


On Man's Road

by louciferish



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - The Last Unicorn Fusion, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Fairy Tale Curses, Has art, Immortality, Kissing, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Magic, Quests, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Transformation, Unicorn Victor Nikiforov, Unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: The unicorn does not remember many things, although he has had many years to make memories. When a chance encounter leads him to believe he may be the last of his species, he sets out from his wood, risking his life in search of the others.Yuuri is only a trainee magician, better at books and theory than he is at real magic. His spells always seem to end in disaster, no matter how hard he studies. He's not looking for trouble, really! It just always seems to find him anyway.A story of magic, immortality, curses, family, loyalty, and love, and what it takes to repair a heart when it shatters.





	1. The Last

**Author's Note:**

> A world of thanks to [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling), who came through in the clutch to make sure this world would make sense even to those with no familiarity with the film or novel on which it’s based.
> 
> To [Rakel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar) for being the loudest possible cheerleader throughout the first chapter.
> 
> And finally thank you to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for creating the incredible art for this which _only made me tear up a little, I swear_ and also basically talking me into doing this to begin with.

When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing  
And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising  
And it seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn  
In the distance hear the laughter of the last unicorn  
_I'm alive, I'm alive_  
\- "The Last Unicorn", _America_

The unicorn does not remember many things, although he has had many years to make memories. From his silver-streaked mane to his golden hooves, he is immortal and, therefore, unchanging. Memory becomes fleeting when one is immortal. Life stretches out in every direction, and the meetings and partings that come with it blend and swirl until momentousness fades to nothingness.

Now he spends most of his time sleeping. Nothing immortal needs to sleep, but many of them enjoy it, and he finds it a particularly good way to pass the time. There is nothing he really needs to be awake for. 

He’s asleep beneath a great oak tree when he hears the beat of hooves approaching, the heavy metallic tang of them on his ears signaling domesticated horses, not the wild things he has known in ages past. He pricks his ears, but lays his head down in the grass, out of sight of the deer trail the horses are following.

“Why have we come here?” There are men on the horses, then. His ears flick in irritation. This man is loud, and his words are harshly spoken, like gravel tumbling down a hill. “There’s nothing in these woods but evil spirits, I say.”

“Spirits?” A second man, but with a lighter voice, gentle. In another lifetime, he might have been someone who came to the forest seeking the unicorn, and he would have gasped and teared as he emerged all shining and silver from among the trees. The unicorn would have laid his head in the boy’s lap, and he would have curried his mane and braided daisies into his tail in reverence. Not now, though. No one calls to him anymore. “What spirits could be haunting such a beautiful place?”

“This forest was enchanted once,” the first man says. “My mother used to tell me tales, and her mother before that. In my grandmother’s youth it was spring here all year round, and the plants never withered, and the leaves never fell, and the young girls and boys would come here to dance with unicorns in the moonlight.”

“Unicorns?” The younger man laughs. “Your mum must have been quite the drinker. Don’t tell me you believe in unicorns?”

The unicorn huffs quietly. His breath stirs the grass and bothers a small bee perched on one of the blades, which takes off, buzzing around his nose in irritation until he parts his lips and blows it away.

“Not anymore,” the first man says again, but his voice has gone quiet. The tone of it rings a bell in the unicorn’s heart. “The poor creatures are all long dead now. The forest withers, and the seasons change, but the trees remember when everything here was green. The memory of the unicorns still lingers.”

The unicorn raises his head in alarm. _Dead? All dead?_

Now he can see the men on their horses as they pull abreast of him. The young one is dressed in scarlet, and his handsome black steed prances and jumps at shadows on the path. As the boy reins his mount back, he turns, and his eyes meet those of the unicorn across the bushes. The unicorn lowers his head again. 

The younger man’s voice cracks on a laugh. “If you’re so uncomfortable here, we should leave.”

“What's the matter?” The older man sounds confused, and the hoofbeats halt. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Nothing, nothing. Just need to piss is all. Let’s go somewhere else.” The boy kicks his horse, which gallops off the way it came, the other man following shortly.

As they disappear over the hill, the unicorn unfolds from his hiding place, flicking his tail. Dead, the man said. It’s not impossible. Certainly even immortal creatures can be killed, if the circumstances are right. Unicorns have often been hunted, and may even be killed if they leave their forests, but all of them? All but him? He shakes his head, a shrill of denial echoing off the trees, sending young birds fleeing from their nests.

When he was new, there were hundreds of unicorns in the world. They were rare, certainly, but not so rare as to go unseen by men. Once, there had been others in this forest with him. They had run together through the trees, called to one another in the darkness, and kicked their heels up, splashing through the streams at twilight.

He combs his recent memory, each inch of movement through his own mind the push of a boulder up a great hill. When was the last time he saw another of his kind? He recalls once clipping grass in the valley, aware of nothing but the sweet bite of spring’s newness. Looking up from his snack, he met the eyes of another across the glade. They had nodded to one another, eyes sparkling in recognition, and passed a single bright day together as siblings might, meeting again after many years parted. Was that a year ago? A decade? A century?

At some point, he knows, he must have begun seeing other immortal creatures less often. Those he knew had disappeared, one by one. Some had told him they would be leaving to seek new homes elsewhere; others had simply vanished. The magic in the forest had faded, and eventually he hadn’t bothered with keeping it up by himself. He had allowed the enchantments to fade, the animals to die, and the streams to dry up.

For years uncounted he has been lonely, unsought, and forgotten. Could he really be alone, not just here, but in all the world? Might he truly be the last?

Among the trees, his eye catches on a flicker of yellow and blue - a butterfly. It flitters over his head, unafraid. This butterfly, too, is immortal, one of the few creatures for whom he keeps up the pretense of glamour and enchantment. He sighs, his breath forming an updraft that Christophe rides up to the canopy before gliding back down.

  


Chris perches on the tip of his horn, wrapping his hind legs around it and spiraling down along the length. He bends backwards, meeting the unicorn’s eyes upside down with a wink. _Hello, there,_ the unicorn nods slightly, careful not to dislodge him from his perch. _Back again from your travels, old friend?_

“I was drawn to you because of the music,” Christophe responds, lazily waving prismatic wings. “I’ll continue the momentum with a quadruple Salchow!”

The unicorn shakes his head again. The butterfly’s manner of speaking in quotes and snatches of sound is amusing to him normally, but it can’t distract him from the nagging questions he has now.

 _Tell me outright,_ he pleads. _Did you see others like me in your travels, Chris? Have you seen the other unicorns?_

“He’s being too impatient today, but that’s why you can’t look away,” Chris says, fluttering down from his horn to wrap himself in his forelock. “I was finally able to realize that something like love exists all around me. I don’t really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it ‘love’.”

 _I don’t know why I bother._ He tosses his head violently, throwing the butterfly into the air, and turns his back to him. _I’ll never get a straight answer from you._

“It’s enough to make even me, a man, pregnant!” His friend only chases after him, catching onto the end of his tail. “Such eros!”

 _Leave me alone,_ the unicorn scoffs, attempting to flick him off again. _If you cannot tell me where the other unicorns have gone, then you’re no use to me right now._

“I got bored of feeling depressed, so I got to thinking,” the butterfly calls cheerfully. Then his voice breaks and stutters. A cool breeze stirs the grass and rattles the small branches of the trees. The little birds stop their song, and the unicorn feels something enormous rising from beneath the earth, like a giant stirring as it slumbers beneath a mountain. 

“Long ago, they fell,” the butterfly whispers, his voice the scrape of a hundred tiny feet over sand. “The bull was around them and through them, and one by one he captured them and drove them off the edge of the world.” 

_They fell._ The unicorn stands still as a painting. The weight of silence and the trees themselves seem to close in around him, pressing down from above. _What bull?_

“The bull drove them,” the voice says again. The unicorn closes his eyes. His flanks are trembling. He knows only that he does not want to see what is steering the butterfly. “He drove them as he drives you.”

His eyes fly open and he wheels around, rearing back on his hind legs. The butterfly snaps upward from his tail, reeling into the sky. Whatever he had stirred up begins to dissipate, and the sounds of insects and birds slowly rise again.

 _Are you okay, Christophe?_ He searches the branches above for the glimmer of yellow. _Are you still there, my friend?_

“You don’t have to say anything,” the butterfly calls back from the trees, barely audible. “Just have more faith than I do that I’ll win!”

The unicorn sighs, dropping his head, then slowly sinking to the grass, exhausted. _I have an answer,_ he thinks. _But it only brought me more questions. What is this bull, and where has it driven the others?_

He lays his head down once more, inhaling the sharp aroma of crushed green grass. _What did the voice mean, it drives me too? If the others are still out there somewhere, are they expecting me? What if they need my help? Have they been calling to me for years and I never heard them?_

 _Maybe they’re on a great adventure, and I’m the only one missing out._ A thrill runs through his form at the thought, lighting up all of his muscles at once, and he stomps his hooves. _An adventure, yes._ A unicorn leaving his wood is rare, he knows, but it does happen. When he was young, he knows there was another forest, a place of pines and wild cats with fields beyond the boundary full of snow and ice instead of grass. He came from there to this new place long ago, and he survived the trip. He can leave again. He can be an adventurer.

He _will_ leave again, and he will find the others, and then maybe, someday, this wood will sing to him of home again.

Satisfied, his eyes drift closed, and he passes the time in sleep once more. 

-

In the light of morning, decisions made on impulse the day prior do not often seem wise. That is not the case, however, for immortal creatures, which do not make choices without thinking on them for years first. Many times in the past he had thought of leaving, only to put it aside because of the risk. Now, with the carrot of reunion and novelty dangling ahead of him, he can ignore the stick behind.

He is not without apprehension about leaving the forest. The journey ahead of him will risk his life, run him to the ends of the earth, and in the end may leave him with nothing to show. All of this is possible. But although this forest has been his home for many human lifetimes, he looks around it and finds no sign of anything to keep him in this place. His friends are dead, or else vanished. Through the passing of time, the forest has become more his cell than his sanctuary.

The creatures of the wood pay him little mind as he picks his way along deer trails to the edge of the trees. They are long used to him, and they are not his friends. Once, when there were others like him in the woods, they were protectors of these small things, but the unicorn has long since allowed that duty to lapse. The ordinary creatures scurry from his path, knowing him to be something apart from them, but they do not hold him in awe or seem to care that he leaves.

Still, he pauses as he reaches the place where the trees thin. He looks back. Perhaps some part of him is hoping for a reprieve, that he will look over his shoulder and find another of his kind stepping out from the shadows. _Silly creature,_ it will call him fondly. _We’ve been here all along_.

But behind him he sees only shadows and trees and the flickering movements of small birds and animals. He lowers his head and turns back to the path.

He steps out into a wide meadow where he used to run with others, long ago. Through the center of it, like a scar on a lovely face, is a wide path pressed into the earth, clear of grass and covered with small stones. He hears a rumbling, thumping sound, the metal tang of shod hooves, and the ringing of small bells. 

His heart begins to race. He’s caught in the open, and without pausing to think he flees back into the wood, concealing himself behind the trees. He’s blowing hard at the sudden rush of fear, instincts screaming at him to move back again and return to safety. The wood may kill his spirit, but the outside can take his life.

Instead, he locks his knees and watches to see what had startled him. 

It’s nothing but a small wooden cart, pulled by two handsome chestnut ponies with shaggy flaxen manes. There’s a man perched at the top of the cart in worn clothing, hunched over the reins. If the unicorn feared being seen before, it’s clear there’s no danger of that from this person, whose eyes remain fixed on the bobbing heads of his ponies.

When the cart has passed over the horizon, he steps out from the trees again. He has no idea where he is going, but the wide path clearly leads somewhere. For the moment, it’s the best guide he has.

He tries stepping onto the path, but the small stones pressed into the ground are uneven and lodge in the soft parts of his feet. He climbs back into the field and begins making his way alongside the pathway instead of on it.

 _How far will I have to journey,_ he wonders. _And how will I even know if I’m going the right way?_

But there is no one to ask, and no way to know. 

Despite the peril he’s now exposed to, he finds himself trotting along briskly, ears pricked and tail held high. All around him are unfamiliar sights and smells. He hasn’t emerged from his wood in such a long time, and even the sight of a new butterfly or an unknown flower feels electrifying. He finds himself distracted, fascinated by nearly-imperceptible patterns in the foliage that are infinitesimally varied from those he knows. 

He’s so preoccupied watching a flock of grouse rising from the long grass, startled by his hoofbeats, that he doesn’t notice the man walking toward him on the path until he’s mere lengths away.

“Hello there,” the man says softly. His clothes are dirty and worn, and his face brown and wrinkled like an old potato. He smiles at the unicorn, showing just a few stubborn teeth wedged between thin lips. “Hello, pretty.”

Again, his instincts scream at him to hide. He’s too exposed out here. And yet, the call awakens another impulse in his breast as well, summoning the scents of crushed flowers and the feel of gentle fingers in his mane. The man does not look like a pure heart, but then appearances can be deceiving. The unicorn stops, arching his neck and flicking his tail. _Yes_ , he thinks. _See me. Am I not everything you’ve dreamed of for all your short life?_

“Pretty girl,” the man continues, and the unicorn snorts derisively. “Pretty pony.” He unloops a length of rough rope from his belt, and begins knotting a messy halter together.

 _Pony?_ The unicorn shakes his head and takes a step back. _Is that what you think I am, a **pony**?_

“Easy,” the man whispers, still advancing steadily toward him. “Easy, old girl.”

 _ **Old girl?**_ The unicorn prances back, stomping his feet against the earth. _Old fool of a man. You don’t see anything. There’s no rope made by your hands which can hold me._

He charges forward, and the man freezes in shock. The unicorn loops the rope halter over his horn and tosses it into the air, veering away from colliding with the idiot at the last second. He flicks his tail out like a flag and gallops away, his head held high.

In his wake, the old man bends over to retrieve his rope from the path, scratching his head in confusion. “Clumsy,” he scolds himself. “Clumsy old man dropped the rope.”

The unicorn gallops alongside the road, sprinting until his flanks begin to lather and his breath comes hard. He slows to a trot, his heart still racing. _A pony,_ he thinks. _Is that what most men see when they look at a unicorn now? Once they would have fallen to their knees to catch even a glimpse of my tail._

There’s a pond in a nearby meadow, surrounded by grazing cattle. He slows again and walks toward it, lowering his head to breathe more easily.

 _This may smooth my journey’s course, if all they see is a horse walking along the path. I would not have to hide in the bush so often._ His appearance by the pond startles the cows, who kick up their heels, fleeing further afield. The small birds and grasshoppers startled up from the grass by their hooves clamor in the air. 

He stares down at the rippling reflection in the water’s surface, half expecting to see a plain grey pony staring back at him. But no, he is still a unicorn, white as fresh snow and sprinkled with silvery light. He dips his horn in the water to purify it, then drinks deeply.

_Then again, is there any purpose to this quest at all? If man can no longer recognize a unicorn when they see it, who’s to say they are gone from the world? Perhaps they are still in their forests, still roaming the earth, and the humans simply don’t see what’s right in front of them._

_The bull drove them,_ the voice that was not the butterfly sounds in his head once more as a cool breeze rustles the grass around his feet. _He drove them as he drives you._

 _No,_ the unicorn shakes his head to rid himself of the hideous echo. _The others do need me. They await me. I must find them._

He leaves the meadow and makes his way back to the path.

As the days rise and fall around him, he slowly learns to adapt to the patterns of humanity. He skirts the busier parts of the road and gives wide berth to the villages, taking to the shelter of nearby woods where possible and rejoining the path when the noise of concentrated populations fades in the distance.

Although he travels through many new forests and encounters many other creatures, he sees not a single flash of light reflected from a horn, nor a strand of shimmering white hair. With each forest he passes and no sightings, his excitement for adventure dims further under the weight of reality. There may truly be no others left. He presses on.

He learns that if he leaves the path and nibbles at the grass, most humans who walk by won’t give him more than a passing glance, assuming him to be someone’s pony let out to graze. Most humans, but not all. Some chase him, many with ropes and a smaller number with weapons. One man trails behind him for two days, a bow in his hand as he pursues the unicorn relentlessly. 

Though the man sights him a few times, he never fires. Some deep instinct drives him to hunt, but prevents him from taking the shot all the same. Magic rarely permits the ignorant to destroy its beloved creatures.

Still, the effort of the chase leaves the unicorn bone-weary and spiritually drained, and when at last he no longer hears the beat of footsteps far behind him, he is overwhelmed by feelings of relief. The adrenaline flees his body, and he slows. His hooves drag through the dirt as he treks back from the woods until the road is again in sight.

He is grateful for the respite from the hunt, but can’t ignore the growing pressure of the journey ahead. He could still turn back, but that would mean days of walking the other direction with the same risks. He curls up under a solitary elm not far from the roadside to rest his legs. The soil is rocky and pricks at his hide, and he thinks with a touch of longing back to the grassy bower where he used to lay in the wood, sleeping away the monotony of eternal life.

It’s the closest he’s come to happy thoughts of home, and it lulls him with the echoes of bird song and phantom scents of apple blossom. He puts his head down on the tree root and falls asleep. 

Sunset rolls over the land, burnishing the wheat fields with gold and red as the shadows on the ground vanish, blending into the darkness. The stars are singing a melody full of joy at the fresh blanket of night. The passing of footsteps on the road does not wake the unicorn from his slumber, nor does the rattling approach of the caravan.

The four small wagons are hung with bells, chiming brightly as the wheels catch and jostle on the rutted path. As a result, a great clamor goes up when the lead wagon abruptly stops, forcing the next three to halt as well and worrying the horses.

The robed figure perched on the first wagon descends like a fog rolling in on the hills. She leaves the path and looks closely at the unicorn, pulling back her hood. Her pointed nose, narrow eyes, and thin lips give her the appearance of a shrewd raptor stooping toward a rabbit. 

“Come here,” she whispers harshly. “Come on, all of you.”

Four more humans come down from the other wagons with considerably less grace. While the woman is richly dressed in robes embroidered with fine thread, the young ones are plainly and identically attired and wear only simple brown cloaks for warmth. 

“What did we stop for?” A reed-thin young woman with red hair asks, but the older women shushes her.

“Quiet your prattling and tell me what you see,” she says, pointing out to the tree with a crooked finger. “There, what is it?”

“Cute pony,” the redhead says, shrugging. 

The older woman purses her lips. “What about the rest of you lot?”

“What Mila said,” a tall young man with dark hair nods to the sleeping unicorn. “A horse sleeps under a mighty tree.”

“It’s a very nice pony,” says the brunette girl, flipping her hair back over her shoulder and leaning up on the young man next to her with a pout on her plush lips. “Catch it for me, Georgi? I want to tie it to my wagon.”

“Of course.” Georgi puffs his chest out, tucking the girl in closer to his side with a fond smile. “Anything for you, my love.”

“And you?” The robed woman narrows her eyes to slits as she watches the last boy in the group. He ducks his head to avoid her gaze, concealing himself beneath his somewhat shaggy black hair. “What do _you_ see, Magician?”

The boy is silent for a long moment, then, still looking away, he mutters, “Dead horse.”

The woman is still staring at him, unspeaking. He scratches at the back of his neck and finally looks over, meeting her eyes. “It’s just a horse,” he whispers.

“Fine.” She throws her head back when she laughs, cracked and squeaky like a wagon left to rust in the rain. “Some pure-hearted young maids the villages have given me here, eh? Okay. It’s a very pretty pony. I want it.”

“I’ll have it, Madam Baranovskaya,” Georgi says, and starts for the wagons to grab a rope.

“Idiot,” Baranovskaya scoffs, looking down her nose at him. “This one won’t be so easy as to let you rope it, asleep or not. Yuuri!” The boy with the shaggy black hair jumps, caught fiddling with the clasp on his cloak. “Cast a sleep on the creature first. We want to be certain he doesn’t wake.”

Yuuri nods to her and steps forward. He bows, clasping his hands together, and adjusts his feet to turn out the toe. He bends deeply at the knee, sweeping his arms out gracefully. A soft gray mist appears above the unicorn, descending just as Yuuri bends.

Then he snaps to his full height, raising both arms over his head. The mist becomes a storm cloud, and a bolt of lightning sparks the ground beneath the tree. The unicorn raises his head.

“Fool,” the woman barks, then sweeps her arms upward, clapping her hands together at the peak. The cloud envelopes the unicorn’s head, and he collapses back to the ground, lying curled in on himself once more. 

“Four apprentices and still I must do everything myself,” she sighs, then squares her shoulders, looking her pupils over thoroughly. “Well, at the very least the four of you together should be able to carry a _small pony_. Pick him up and place him in the cage in the last wagon, and don’t,” she puts a single finger up, drawing their attention. “Don’t let him so much as brush against the bars on the side, or you’ll all be in bed without supper tonight.”

“Yes, Madame Baranovskaya,” they murmur in unison. She leaves them to their task, climbing the steps at the rear of her wagon.

Yuuri lingers back while the other three go to lift their mistress’ prize. They heave it up onto their shoulders, then exclaim in shock.

“It barely weighs more than my father’s old hound,” Georgi says, a wide grin spreading across his face. 

“Maybe your half does,” Mila grumbles from beneath the unicorn’s butt. “Our half isn’t exactly candy floss.”

“The old witch must have put a lightening spell on him too,” Anya whispers as they shuffle toward the rear wagon. She glares over at Yuuri out of the corner of her eye. “Not fair. Why doesn’t Yuuri have to carry the horse butt?”

Yuuri laughs, strained and awkward. He fiddles with the clasp of his cloak again. “Oh, you know. I’ll probably just muck it up, like I did the spell earlier. Lilia said to put the iron collar on him too, right? I can do that.”

Mila narrows her eyes at him as best someone under a horse butt can. “I am pretty sure she did not, but thanks for offering to help.”

After that, Yuuri can only watch with bated breath as the other apprentices carry the unicorn to his cage and gently lower him to the ground. The clang of the door as it slams shut brings tears to his eyes, and the click of the lock as Lilia secures her prize a moment later releases them, twin streams traversing the hills of his cheeks. He puts his hood up before he climbs to his perch on the wagon.

In a cage beneath his feet, a unicorn dreams of an enchanted wood where it is always spring, nothing ever dies, and the hoofbeats of his kind ring like a chorus of bells among the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter by Morgen and kiaroscuro


	2. The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Baranovskaya’s Wandering School of Witchcraft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is truly a collaborative labor of love.
> 
> All the gratitude in the world is due to:
> 
> [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling), for the incredible context-blind betaing _even while on vacation_
> 
> [Rakel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadhahvar/pseuds/shadhahvar) for the continued support. _You're married to this now_.
> 
> [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome) for the extra set of eyes even when it's 2 AM in Japan and I'm being _annoying as fuck_.
> 
> And last, but hella not least, to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for another round of incredible artwork and generally being a transcendent experience as a person.

_It is a rare man who is taken for what he truly is. There is much misjudgment in the world.  
We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream._  
\-  The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

At first he believes he’s still in the dream. The world around him is dark, only drips and dashes of yellow light cutting through here or there. There’s a heavy quality to the air itself, as though a great weight is enveloping his body, pressing in on him from all sides. He feels small.

As his eyes adjust to the dim light, he sees the bars.

The unicorn staggers to his feet with a shrill cry, lashing out at the cage with his front legs. At the touch of metal, pain shoots from the tips of his hooves, branching through his form, and he falls to his knees. The cold iron all around him seems to mock his efforts, and its spiritual weight only presses down harder. 

He rises once more, approaching the door cautiously now that he can feel the hum of the metal. Through the bars, he can see a padlock hanging crooked from the door of the cage. If he can only touch the tip of his horn to the keyhole, the lock will spring open, and he can be free. He creeps closer and nudges his horn through the bars. He has to go slowly to keep from brushing against the metal and branding his hide with cold iron. 

At last, he nudges the padlock, and it flops sideways. He sets the tip of his horn to the keyhole.

There’s no spring of the latch, no thump of the lock hitting the wood floor, only silence. 

He hears a click, and his ears perk up. Light streams into the wagon, forcing him back a step as his eyes adjust to the glare of the sun through the open door. A robed figure steps in, her gray-streaked hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her garments are richly embroidered in gold and silver, but stained with road dust and frayed at the hems. 

“Well met,” the woman says, curtseying slightly. “I am Madame Lilia Baranovskaya, and you are welcome here.”

 _Welcome?_ The unicorn snorts unattractively, stomping his hoof on the floor. _What sort of welcome is a cage?_

“Would you have come to me had I not caged you?” Baranovskaya’s smile is sly, a mere quirk of the lip, and she stares at him in blatant appraisal. “An old witch like me? My days of taming unicorns with pretty songs and soft smiles are long past now. No. We’ll make do with the cage.”

 _Release me,_ the unicorn commands. _You know you do yourself great risk by holding a unicorn captive._

“I do,” she says, the smile dropping from her features. “But I cannot give you your freedom. I need you. You are the last of your kind, and my last chance.” She shakes her head, looking away. Her gaze softens, and the unicorn can see an echo of what was once a great beauty in the lines of her profile.

 _The last,_ he echoes. _Do you know it for certain? What happened to the others? You must tell me if you know._

She steps in closer to the cage, wrapping her hand around one of the bars as she peers in at him. He steps back again, shrinking beneath her shrewd eyes. “You’ve very pushy for someone in a cage.” She clicks her fingernail against the bar. “What would you do to save them? Would you die for them? Would you sell your soul?” Her hand trails down the line of metal like a caress. “Do you love anything, besides yourself?”

The unicorn latches onto the thread of her words. _So they can be saved,_ he says. _Where can I find them?_

Madame Baranovskaya pauses, watching the play of light on the boards. “Maybe I’ll tell you, when I think you might understand,” she says softly. Then, she walks out, closing the door firmly behind her.

The unicorn can only wait in the darkness she left behind. 

-

As soon as Lilia descends the steps at the back of the wagon, Yuuri is at her side, extending his hand to help her to the ground. “Good morning,” he says, nodding politely. “Did you sleep well?”

The older woman only sighs at him, shaking her head. Madame Baranovskaya is a slim woman, but her cheeks look sunken, her eyes hollowed out by despair. Yuuri squeezes her hand a little before letting go. “I’m not in the mood for pleasantries right now, Magician,” she says. “Whatever it is you’re wanting, out with it.”

More beating around the bush will just kill any goodwill he has from her at the moment. “The… pony,” he says. “What do you want with it? Why go to all that trouble to get it?”

“I need it for a spell,” she says, and then extends her arm in invitation for Yuuri to escort her. “Walk me to my room. I need to rest.”

Yuuri brushes the dust of travel from his cloak, then takes her arm. “What sort of spell do you need a pony for?” She looks at him sharply from the corner of her eye, and he ducks his head, flushing. “I’ve seen a lot of spells in my books that call for hair or teeth or other bits, but never a spell that requires an entire pony. I’m just curious.”

Lilia hums. “It's an expansive work,” she explains. “It’s taken me many years to prepare for this, and at last my chance has arrived, dropped on my doorstep like so much rubbish. My husband told me I’d never find another… but that’s none of your business.”

She starts to pull her arm away, but Yuuri holds her tight to his side. As they continue to stroll back to her wagon, she slowly relaxes against him. “If you need an assistant, I’d like to be considered,” Yuuri offers. “If you think that would be helpful.”

The witch hums again, then chuckles to herself. “Once, I thought I’d be able to pass this burden on to another, perhaps even to a student, but,” she shakes her head. “None of you have exactly been the star pupils I hoped to have. Given that Georgi can’t so much as transform a frog into a water lily, I’m not holding my breath that I’ll be able to entrust any of you lot with something of importance.”

She leans her weight into Yuuri’s shoulder as she ascends the steps to her wagon, turning to face him once again at the door and tousling his hair affectionately. “Do yourself a favor,” she says. “Stay out of that wagon and leave the things you don’t understand alone. Messing with the unknown gets more magicians into trouble than not.”

“I’ll take your advice to heart,” Yuuri says, placing his right hand over his heart and bowing slightly. 

Lilia vanishes back into her cabin, and Yuuri turns on heel and starts jogging back to the other end of the camp. Madame Baranovskaya is both changeable and astute, and he may not have another chance to get into the rear wagon without her knowing.

He gets as far as the wagon he shares with Georgi, his target in sight, before his bunkmate appears. Georgi slings an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders with a smile that’s no doubt meant to be friendly. With the dark kohl he’s smudged beneath his eyes, he looks more like an emissary of death. 

“Yuuri,” he drawls, guiding them back toward the campfire none too gently. “Come sit and have breakfast with us. You spend too much time in those books and not enough with your classmates.” Yuuri looks back over his shoulder at the wagons and bids a silent farewell to his window of opportunity.

Mila and Anya are sitting on an old blanket by the fire when Yuuri and Georgi walk up. Georgi goes to grab something for the two of them to sit on as Yuuri waits. He shifts his weight on his feet and nods to the two ladies.

“Beans and bread again,” Mila sighs, stirring the iron cauldron nestled among the coals with a ladle. “How far out is the next town again? I’m sick to death of beans and bread.”

“ _You’re_ sick of it?” Anya asks, incredulous. “Imagine how I feel, having to share a room with you all night after you’ve eaten it.”

“I’d feel guilty if you spent more of the night actually in our room,” Mila says, raising an eyebrow. Anya crosses her arms and turns away, hiding the blush.

Georgi returns with a rug from their wagon, dropping it in the dirt with a whump and kicking up a breeze that whips the flames around erratically.

“Georgi! You’ll scald the food,” Mila scolds him, shaking the ladle as it drips goopy beans into the dirt. “It’s bad enough when it cooks evenly.”

Georgi isn’t listening. He leans down near the fire, inhaling a big gulp of smoke from the stuttering flame. “I love beans,” he sighs, then lifts his head to gaze fondly at Anya across the fire. Mila rolls her eyes.

Yuuri settles onto the rug cross-legged, clasping his hands together in his lap. When he’d been selected to train with Lilia, his village had been so thrilled, they’d slaughtered two pigs to celebrate. As the honored guest, Yuuri had eaten more pork in one night than he’d had in all the twenty-two years prior to that moment. It may have spoiled him for life. 

He watches Mila slop beans into the first bowl and break off a hunk of dry bread. His stomach roils, and he can’t tell where the hunger ends and the nausea begins. He accepts the bowl with both hands and a quiet word of thanks anyway.

“Georgi, what did you have to do to pry the scholar out of his books?” Anya asks. She’s piling her long brown hair up on her head, as she always does before meals. “If he promised you there was a dusty old book out here, he was lying, Yuuri. There’s only dirt and beans and _women_.”

Yuuri stares down into his bowl and pushes his spectacles up from the tip of his nose. There’s mold on the bread already. He fishes out the little belt knife he carries and starts to scrape it off onto the ground.

“Leave Yuuri alone,” Mila says, thrusting a bowl of food at Anya. “If you’re always teasing him when he comes out, then he’ll never leave his room at all.” She leans forward to fix her own breakfast and smiles at Yuuri across the fire. “We’re happy you’re out here with us this morning. What were you and Madame up to together so early?”

Yuuri dips his bread into the beans, plumbing the depths of the bowl in the hope the bean juices will cut the dryness. “I was curious about that pony we picked up last night,” he says. “Madame said she needs it for a spell.”

He looks up, pushing the bread around in his bowl absently. “The thing is, I can’t think of a single spell I’ve seen in my research that needs an entire... pony. Can you?”

Anya snorts, then tries to cover her face with her hand, bean juice dribbling down her chin. Once she’s reclaimed some of her dignity, she says, “If you don’t know of anything, then why would we? You’ve read ten times as many spells as any of us have.”

“Maybe she wants to turn it into something else, like a mouse,” Georgi posits. “I read a story like that once, but the other way around. A fairy transformed four mice into a team of beautiful horses!”

“Transforming mice into horses is a useful idea,” Mila says, shaking her head. “What good is making a pony into a mouse? If Madame wanted a mouse, she could catch one of those much more easily.” 

“Hmm,” Yuuri picks up his bread and looks at the end. It’s soggy now. His shoulders slump, but he tucks into his breakfast as the others do the same. It’s not half bad, as long as he tries not to chew.

While Georgi scrapes the last dried beans from the cauldron to his bowl, Yuuri takes a deep breath and asks, “What about a spell that used an entire _unicorn_?”

Mila and Anya start giggling, falling back onto their blanket. Georgi turns to him, brow lined with concern. “Yuuri,” he says hesitantly. “You know a pony is not a unicorn, right? I’m no magician, but I don’t think it’s like substituting lard for butter in a recipe.”

“Too bad,” Anya mutters, still lying spread eagle on the blanket by Mila. “I heard eating the heart of a unicorn will grant eternal youth.” Mila groans, and Anya turns to her roommate, propping herself up on one elbow. “What? I’m not saying I’d do it. What if you have to eat it raw?” She feigns gagging.

With a sigh, Yuuri gathers his dish and rises from the rug. “Thank you for breakfast,” he says. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go do more research.”

“Have fun with your old books,” Anya calls after him as he retreats to his library.

He doesn’t get another opportunity to break into the rear wagon until midday, when Lilia demands they stop the caravan so she can check the nearest copse of trees for a specific type of moss, which must be gathered “when the sun rests at the pinnacle of its arc”. She takes the ladies into the woods with her, leaving Yuuri and Georgi to guard the wagons.

“I’ll take the rear,” Yuuri volunteers, and Georgi only claps him on the shoulder in acknowledgment. Yuuri walks carefully, keeping his stride measured as he moves toward the final wagon, just in case anyone is watching.

Once he arrives at the wagon, he bounds up the steps and slips through the door quickly, pulling it shut behind him. 

Illuminated only by the gaps between the boards, the unicorn gleams in the darkness. As Yuuri enters, the unicorn is folded up in much the same way he’d lain sleeping in the meadow, but he finds his feet at the sound of the door latch.

 _Come to offer me oats and water?_ he asks, turning his head away when he sees Yuuri. His pale blue eyes are piercing. Dazed, Yuuri thinks he has never seen a color like it in the natural world.

“No.” He keeps his voice a whisper and leans his back against the door, just in case they’re interrupted. “I want to help.”

The unicorn tosses his head, dancing back in the small cage. _You hear me?_

“I know you,” Yuuri admits, unable to resist stepping forward even as the unicorn retreats. “I see what you really are.” 

_What is this place?_ The unicorn demands, whipping his tail. _Who is that woman?_

“This is Madame Baranovskaya’s Wandering School of Witchcraft,” Yuuri says. The unicorn is like a magnet. Strips of light flash off the silver of his mane and the gold of his hooves as he prances, and Yuuri steps forward again until he’s nearly pressed against the bars. “I’m one of her apprentices, Yuuri, and there are three others - Mila, Georgi, and Anya. We found you sleeping by the road last night, and Madame ordered us to take you.” He shakes his head, then brushes a few strands of black hair from his eyes. “The others think you’re a pony.”

The unicorn snorts. _If you know who I am, then you know I should not be here. Release me._

Yuuri’s hands clench on the cage bars. “I can’t,” he says. “At least, not right now. The lock is enchanted.”

 _You’re a witch too, aren’t you?_ The unicorn tosses his head impatiently. _Un-enchant it._

“I’m not really a witch,” Yuuri confesses, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m an apprentice magician _studying_ with a witch. I’m… more into theory than practice?” The unicorn doesn’t have a face Yuuri can read as he would a human, but the creature doesn’t seem impressed by him. “I need more time to figure out how to get around it.”

 _Time?_ The unicorn stomps his hoof, drawing closer to the bars himself. _For the first time in my life, I have precious little of that. The others of my kind have all vanished, and now this witch holds me captive._ He shakes his head as if attacked by biting flies. _I can’t help but think the worst is coming._

“I don’t believe Lilia would hurt you. She’s not evil, just… complicated.” With the unicorn standing so close to the door, Yuuri could reach between the bars if he wanted. It would only take a small movement, and then his fingers would be brushing across the velvet of his coat. 

He pulls his hands from the bars, tucking them under his arms. “She told me she needs you for a spell. I was up late last night and spent much of this morning reading through spellbooks, and I can’t find even a whisper of a spell that would need an entire unicorn, only parts, like a unicorn hair or a bit of hoof.”

The unicorn doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and neither does Yuuri. He knows neither of them is fooled by his excuses. Many spells do call for only parts of a unicorn, but those parts include the blood, the heart, and the horn. Lilia, for all her sharpness, has also been kind. Yuuri doesn’t know what to believe, but he knows one thing as certainly as his own name: no one should ever cage a unicorn.

“Yuuri!” He jumps at the sound of Mila calling his name. It’s loud, like she’s right outside the wagon. 

“Yuuri, where are you? I need you to help me with this blasted fertility potion.” There’s a murmur after that, unclear, and then the sound of laughter. 

“Honestly,” Anya says. “Why are you even bothering? You know he’s probably curled up in a tree somewhere with a book, dead to the world.” Mila says something back, but it’s indistinct and trails off. They seem to be walking away.

“I have to go,” Yuuri says quickly. “If they tell Lilia I’m missing, she’ll find me in here for sure.” He turns toward the door, then pauses and looks back. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 _Please,_ the unicorn says, barely above a whisper. He stills, his head hanging low. _You’re the only option I have._

Yuuri leaves, but closing the wagon door behind him makes the same hollow sound as sealing a tomb.

-

The unicorn lies down once more in the darkness. There is an urgency crawling under his skin, an itch to run, but nowhere he can spend it. The feeling of the cage around him is a weight, a noose, a creeping feeling of tiny legs scurrying across every part of his body. 

And to think he had believed the wood he lived in was a prison.

He closes his eyes, but there are no dreams, only the gleeful whisper of cold iron.

He sleeps fitfully and wakes often, jerking his head up in alarm only to find no cause and no sign that anything in his surroundings has changed. 

He wakes again to find Yuuri pulling the wagon door closed behind him, face illuminated by a swinging oil lamp, and relief floods the unicorn’s body. He clambers to his feet. _You came,_ he whispers.

“Yes,” Yuuri smiles. He places his lamp on the floor and steps up close to the cage door again. The flickering light of the lamp casts long shadows around the small room. “Sorry it took so long. I had to wait until we stopped to make camp, and then Georgi was up writing poetry for Anya and-,” he cuts himself off. “Well, you don’t care.”

 _Did you find a spell?_ The unicorn prances, tasting the promise of freedom. _Can you break the enchantment?_

“No,” Yuuri says, digging through his belt pouch. “But I have something just as good.” 

He pulls out a tiny metal object, and the unicorn steps closer to the bars in an attempt to see it more clearly. _That’s not a key._

“Oh, it’s a hair pin.” Yuuri swipes it through his forelock, then pins it up to the top of his head. The unicorn just stares. “Lilia keeps her keys in her room, but I got this from Anya’s room. I should be able to use it to pick the lock.”

He steps closer to the door of the cage, pulls the pin from his hair, jams it into the keyhole, and starts wiggling it around. 

After a few minutes, Yuuri looks up at the unicorn through a curtain of hair. “It always works in the novels,” he mutters, then straightens, sighing. “I really thought I could do that.”

 _Are you giving up?_ The unicorn tries to remain controlled, but being so close to freedom only to be denied has shaken him. He feels desperate enough to throw himself at the bars again. _Don’t you know **any** spells that might work, Magician?_

“Well,” Yuuri bites his lip, pausing. “There are a couple that might-”

 _Try them_ , the unicorn demands. 

“It might not work,” Yuuri says, holding up a hand. “And if it fails, it could go really badly. I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _Try it_ , the unicorn says again, adding, _Please_.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “Okay.” He steps back from the cage door and closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he brings his heels together. Then he begins to really move. His arms flow up overhead as he rises onto the toe of one foot. His other leg extends behind him, bent at the knee. He raises his eyes to the ceiling.

Compared to a unicorn, the grace of a deer leaping swiftly through the long grass appears gangly and awkward. Despite this, the flow of Yuuri’s arms as he reaches outward and the long line of his neck when he extends, these things draw the unicorn in. He steps forward, his skin a hairsbreadth from touching the iron bars.

A small cloud begins to gather from the floor, a rambling little tornado of dust and bits of leaf litter. It pulls together, spins in place for a moment, then solidifies into a curly-haired brown dog barely bigger than a jack rabbit. 

The dog trots over to the cage door and begins to scratch and dig at the iron bars, growling with frustration when they don’t give way. After a minute, he gives up and lies down on the floor, nose pressed to the door as he quietly whines.

Yuuri reaches down and scratches the dog’s head. The little creature licks his hand, then dissipates in another swirl of dust. “Sorry,” Yuuri says to the unicorn. “That was supposed to summon a helpful familiar, but I guess it doesn’t say how helpful.”

 _It did what it was supposed to, then_ , the unicorn prompts him. _It worked, in a way. Try again._

Yuuri nods, his expression resolute. He brings his heels together once more, one foot in front of the other, and rises again to his toes. Raising his arms overhead, he bends gracefully at the knees, then launches himself up in a jump. He lands precisely, with his feet in the same position from which he began.

The unicorn is so enchanted by the rhythm of the man’s movement that he barely notices when the bars start to dissolve around him. The wagon disappears slowly as well, fading from the ground up until Yuuri and the unicorn are left standing alone in the empty clearing. The unicorn can hear the night birds trilling in the nearby trees, and the crickets playing their desperate tunes to the darkness.

He rushes forward. Pain sparks bright at the tip of his nose, running up his face until he feels it all the way to the tops of his ears. He steps back, shaking his head side to side, trying to relieve the searing anguish. 

The bars reappear around him, then the wagon. Yuuri has both hands covering his mouth, and his brown eyes are shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll do more research.”

 _No._ The unicorn stomps his foot and closes his eyes. _It’s working. You were close._

“I wasn’t close. I hurt you,” Yuuri argues, dropping his arms. His voice begins to rise in pitch. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just a student, and I’m not a very good one.”

 _Magician_ , the unicorn says calmly. _I know magic. I am made of it. I feel it in my mane, and in my flesh, and in my spirit. You know magic, too. I can feel it all around you, like a stormcloud at times, and others like a whirlwind._

He pauses, lowering his head. _You may not be the most experienced magician, but there is magic in everything you’ve done here. Now, please, **free me**._

Yuuri’s eyes are wide as the unicorn speaks, but when he hears those last words his face tightens. He nods and takes another step back. The setup is much the same as before, but this time he steps forward on his toes. Jumping straight up, he twirls in the air like a dandelion seed dancing on the wind.

The bars of the cage begin to glow. It’s faint at first, but in the dim light of the guttering oil lamp, it soon shines bright as the stars.

Yuuri lands on his toes, then melts to the floor. He crouches there, eyes closed in concentration as the light gets brighter still, blinding. It burns the unicorn’s eyes, and he tries to turn his head, but it’s coming from all sides. Finally, unable to take it, he cries out, _Yuuri!_

The magician’s eyes fly open, and the bars explode outward, along with the walls of the wagon. 

They find themselves alone on the bare wooden floor in the darkness as pieces of metal and scraps of wood rain down around them. Yuuri stands and takes a step toward the unicorn. “Amazing,” he whispers, reverent. “You look..” He trails off and raises his hand as if to touch. 

They’re interrupted by the loud bang of a door slamming shut. A voice exclaims in horror, and the blood drains from Yuuri’s face, leaving him white as the unicorn’s flank.

“Go,” he urges in a harsh whisper. “Run. Save yourself.”

The unicorn gathers himself and springs from the wagon with a great leap. As he gallops through the rest of the caravan, he sees the other young witches staring at him, mouths agape. There’s a glimmer of something in their eyes - perhaps recognition, or maybe just sorrow - and then he’s hitting his stride on empty road, sailing into the night on his own.

He leaves the road and runs through the grass, startling the small rabbits and mice from their burrows to run alongside him. An owl cries out with delight somewhere above them.

He runs until the lights of the caravan disappear behind a hill, revelling in the sweet taste of the cool night air and the feel of springy loam beneath his feet once more. Then, he slows. 

He made no promises to the magician, but the rules of magic have him bound. The boy freed him, and perhaps saved his life. In exchange, the unicorn must grant him some boon, or else save his life in return. The enchantments in his blood seem to call out for it, pulling him back to the caravan.

Some other impulse stirs in his breast as well. The boy is no great spellworker, but the promise is there. The way he moved was like water flowing over rock; it is beautiful and peaceful, but over time the water wins out. The rock will fall away.

The unicorn finds a bush by the roadside and kneels behind it, ears pricked for the sounds of the caravan. If the wagons return, he will have to leave the boy behind. Even thinking of it pricks his skin with unease and sets him aquiver. It is not right to walk away from a life debt.

He has never paid much mind to human magic, but he can sense some strange current in the air around the boy — the boy who calls himself a magician but studies under a witch; a magician who insists he only knows spells from books and study, but has the power to free a unicorn. 

Long minutes pass with only the sound of the wind rustling the wheat fields, and then at last he hears the thud of footsteps on the road and harsh, panting breaths. Yuuri jogs up the hill, gasping and puffing with the effort, and pauses at the crest, hands on his knees as he sucks in air.

The unicorn rises from his hiding place, and the boy jumps back with a squeak. He pushes his eyeglasses up his nose. “You- you waited for me?”

 _I have a debt to repay,_ the unicorn says, bowing his head. It’s the only good answer he has. _I owe you my life._

Yuuri’s eyes are blown wide as he stares at the unicorn, then looks back over his shoulder, where the caravan has long faded into the darkness. “Good,” he says. “Because if Lilia catches us, she’s going to _murder me_.”

 _Come along._ The unicorn turns up the road and nods back at him. _We need to keep moving._

The boy stands frozen in the road. At his sides, his hands are beginning to tremble.

_Are you coming, or not?_

Yuuri straightens his shoulders, clenching his fists as he nods. “Yes,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

The boy and the unicorn head onward into the night together, with no one watching them but the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure you click the in-text links on the escape scene to see the _incredible_ artwork that [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) created for this chapter!


	3. The First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making friends, making soup, making contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks on this chapter go to:
> 
> [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling) and [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome) for their incredibly detailed and attentive beta work, as always.
> 
> And to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for the lovely banner and _constant_ support.  <3

_If a unicorn should call to you_  
Some moon-mad night all washed in dew,  
Then here's the prayer to whisper:  
Grant me the heart to follow.  
\- "Ragged John", Beatrice Farrington

The sun is barely over the horizon, strains of pink and navy still weaving through the eastern sky ahead of them, when the unicorn leads his companion away from the road to the shelter of a small copse of trees. _There,_ he says. _That should be enough distance between us for now._

Yuuri leans hard against a tree, stretching his arms out wide as he yawns. “Once we stop for good, I’m going to sleep for a whole day,” he says with a lopsided grin. “And then eat my weight in something that isn’t beans.”

The unicorn snorts softly, lipping at the grass. 

Meat might be a dream too far even in a village, but Yuuri’s stomach is rumbling loudly enough that the grass isn’t looking half bad. He has some old ration bars in his rucksack. They might be a bit moldy, but at least they’re food. He gets as far as feeling for the strap on his shoulder before he pauses, finding nothing. 

He must have made some strange little noise, because the unicorn raises his head suddenly, looking at Yuuri with his ears pricked forward. _What is it? Do you hear something?_

“No, I just,” Yuuri stares past the unicorn, looking at nothing at all. “I just realized I don’t have my rucksack. I don’t have my rucksack, or my books, or my spare clothes.” He drops, the bark scraping at his back as he sinks down against the tree to rest on the roots. “I just… left everything behind.”

He hugs his knees to his chest and rests his forehead against them. “I just walked into the woods with nothing. I’m going to die,” his voice drops to a whisper. “I’m going to die in the woods.”

A small clump of sod collides with his arm, and he looks up. The unicorn is standing above him, glaring down with those indescribably blue eyes. Yuuri stares into them and sees nothing but eternity. _You will not die in the woods,_ eternity says. _You are with me._

All Yuuri can say to that is, “Oh.”

 _I owe you a life debt,_ the unicorn continues, stepping away from him to look back toward the road. _I will not let you die. I can sense poisons and purify water. You have never been safer._

“I guess that’s true,” Yuuri admits, though part of him is still screaming that he’s going to die. He tries to mute that voice and clambers back up from the ground slowly, using the tree for support. His feet are sore, unused to hours of walking after the cozy year he’s spent riding in Lilia’s caravan. “If we keep following the road, I think we should reach another village soon. There’s money in my belt pouch, so I can buy supplies once I make it there, and then…” He trails off. He’s not sure what comes after that. Home, maybe.

 _Then it’s settled,_ the unicorn says, flicking his tail. _I will keep you alive until we reach the village, and thus my debt will be discharged._

Without waiting for a reply from Yuuri, he starts to wander back toward the road. “Sure,” Yuuri mutters to his backside, sighing. “I guess it will be.”

The unicorn doesn’t wait for the magician to catch up. The sooner they arrive at the next settlement, the sooner he can return to his solitude. 

The boy jogs to reach him, and they walk in parallel lines once more. Most of the night had been passed in silence as they pressed on, driven by the rush of escape, but silence broken is not easily repaired.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” the magician begins. “What were you doing out here on the road, where anyone might find you? All I know about unicorns comes from books and bedtime stories, but I thought you rarely left your forests.”

 _It’s true. We are safe in our forests, and we keep them protected in turn._ The unicorn turns his head slightly, watching Yuuri as they walk side by side. _When possible, we prefer to stay put._

Yuuri’s brow furrows as he frowns. “Then why leave? Why not stay where you’re safe forever?”

 _Words on the winds tell me that I may be the last of my kind._ The unicorn raises his eyes to the horizon. He has only to brush against the memory for Chris’ voice to ring in his ears once more. _My first source believed the others were all dead, but Madame Baranovskaya seemed to believe they could still be saved._ He sighs deeply. _I don’t know what to believe, but if they’re still out there, then I must find them._

“Wow,” Yuuri wraps his arms around himself, pulling his simple brown cloak more tightly closed. “That’s a noble quest.”

 _Well, I was also bored,_ the unicorn admits. Yuuri barks a laugh, then claps his hand over his mouth. _Unicorns are solitary creatures by nature. I spent very little time with the others, but being so few, we are each connected to one another by the magic that created us. I do not know any of them well, but I know them all deeply._

“I think I understand,” Yuuri says, tugging again at the edges of his cloak. The spring air still holds an edge of ice, though the unicorn seems unaffected by it. “It’s like distant family members. You may not know them well, but you’re still affected when something ill befalls them.”

 _Yes. They are part of me. A butterfly told me that a bull ‘drove them off the edge of the world’, but I’m never sure what to believe of a butterfly. If this bull he spoke of has indeed taken them somewhere, if he intends to come for me, then I cannot just lie in my wood and wait for it to happen._ The unicorn eyes Yuuri as if only truly noticing him now. _Do you know anything of a bull?_

Yuuri’s mouth twists into a grimace. “A bull? I’ve heard whispers and rumors on the road, but nothing much. Hasetsu, the village I’m from, is many days west of here. At home, I never heard any word of a bull.”

 _Good,_ the unicorn says. _Then it seems we’re traveling the right direction._

As they continue, the unicorn begins to notice just how much the scenery around him has changed. The lush meadows and towering oak woods of his home have faded, replaced by fields of scrubby, light-colored grass and gnarled, solitary trees. It makes the sky seem bigger, and his skin pricks with unease at the lack of cover from watching eyes. Each beat of his hooves stirs up a little cloud of dust, and soon the black of the magician’s boots is tarnished with a coat of light brown. 

The farmlands along the roadside grow more sparse as well. The fields and homes are smaller, clustered around rocky little creeks and algae-green ponds like crows around a single bread crust.

A wagon trundles toward them, its wheels whipping up a great cloud of dirt, and the unicorn freezes, scanning the horizon for some concealment and finding only a few bedraggled bushes. _There’s nowhere to hide,_ he says with an edge of desperation. 

Yuuri raises his hands, drawing the unicorn’s attention. “It’s okay, watch.” 

The wagon draws abreast of them, and the horses shy well clear of their path, but the driver only gives Yuuri a small nod of acknowledgement. 

The magician waves back to the man. “They just think you’re my horse,” he whispers from the corner of his mouth. “And most people will never look at me twice.”

The unicorn thinks back to the night before, and the play of shadows and lamplight on the boy’s limbs as he stretched and worked his enchantments. He thinks of telling the magician that he deserves far more attention than a second glance, but says only, _So long as you don’t begin treating me as if I were your horse._

“I would never,” Yuuri says, laying his palm over his heart.

The day wears long with no sign of the next village, and Yuuri resigns himself to a night spent by the side of the road on a bed of gravel. His stomach gurgles at the thought of lying down to sleep with naught to eat but the tubers and berries he might be able to forage from the field, but he resigns himself to this punishment for not grabbing any supplies. 

As the sun begins its descent behind the hills, painting the clouds a spectrum of copper and gold, the unicorn stops abruptly in the road, his ears swiveling rapidly. 

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks, but then he hears it too: the chime of metal on metal, and a low murmur of distant voices. 

_There are men up ahead,_ the unicorn says. _Do not forget our bargain. I am not your horse._

Yuuri nods, and they continue along the road. Soon, he can make out the shadowy form of a merchant wagon looming ahead in the gathering dusk. It’s pulled off the side of the road, next to a rocky outcropping. The storefront opening on the side is tightly secured, and its colorful banners hang limp from the roof. A boy is hunched over some kindling by the rocks, while a second figure sits perched on top of the wagon. A solitary horse is already ground-tied nearby, her swayed back silhouetted against the setting sun as she munches a small pile of hay.

“I’m telling you,” the boy by the fire says as he frantically rubs two sticks together. “I don’t need flint. _I can do this_.”

“Fine,” the boy on the wagon shoots back. “But if dinner is bread and water again, it’s your fault.”

Yuuri clears his throat quietly, and the boy on the ground jumps, his sticks clattering into the pile of kindling at his feet. 

“Do you need some help?” Yuuri asks cautiously. The two boys sound friendly enough, but without a fire to light their faces, he can’t tell much else about them.

“Yes! Hello!” The boy beckons Yuuri closer to the fire pit. “I uh, may have forgotten to pack any flint to start the fire. Do you have some we can borrow?”

“I can, well, I can help,” Yuuri offers again, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. So far, neither of the travelers seem interested in the unicorn standing behind him, so he steps over to stand right above the pile of kindling, then snaps his fingers. The sticks at his feet burst into flames.

“Ah, a witch!” The boy begins clapping in delight, then scurries back to the wagon to grab a few larger pieces of wood to feed the flames.

“I’m a magician, actually,” Yuuri says, eyeing the two travelers. The fire lights their faces now. Both are boys barely in their majority. Their clothes are mostly plain, but each wears a heavy cloak, and these look new - one in dark blue and the other deep red. Though the younger boy is busy feeding the fire, the one perched on the wagon is watching Yuuri and the unicorn both silently, his eyes almost as black as his hair in the gathering night.

“Welcome to our camp, Magician,” the other boy says, kneeling by the fire with his bounty of wood clutched to his chest. “I’m Guang Hong, and that’s Seung-gil on the wagon.” He looks up at Yuuri, his chocolate eyes wide as a puppy’s. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Guang Hong,” Seung-gil starts, his tone warning, but the younger boy talks over him.

“Please!” Guang Hong brushes his shaggy chestnut hair from his eyes. “It’s the least we can do after your help.”

Yuuri hesitates, looking back over his shoulder at the unicorn, who only stares back, silent. His stomach growls again. “Sure,” he says, shrugging, and picks his way among the rocks to crouch down by the fire. “Thank you for your offer. My name is Yuuri.” 

He reaches out to push a stray stick back into the fire, and when he looks back up, Guang Hong and Seung-gil are both staring at the unicorn. Yuuri licks his lips and unfastens his cloak, trying to seem unconcerned. “Is something wrong with my horse?” he asks.

Guang Hong looks at him, then back to the unicorn. “Don’t you need to tie him?”

“Oh!” Yuuri looks over at the unicorn, who tosses his head, gilded by the firelight. It’s hard for Yuuri to believe anyone looks at him and sees a horse, but the unicorn doesn’t need to speak to remind him of their deal. “We’re, um, we’re bound together. By magic. He won’t wander off.”

The unicorn snorts, and then turns his back to them and lies down in the grass. Point taken.

“Ah, how interesting,” Guang Hong exclaims. “Wow. I can’t believe we’ve barely left home and we already met a real magician and a magic horse. See, Seung-gil? We’d never have met anyone like Yuuri if we just stayed home and sold ribbons at the market.”

Seung-gil huffs, then climbs down the other side of the wagon, out of sight.

Guang Hong leans closer to the fire, the heat flushing his face. “Don’t mind him,” he whispers to Yuuri. “He just gets moody when I’m right.”

Yuuri ducks his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Guang Hong’s energy is infectious. “That sounds like someone I used to know,” he says. When he left home, he never expected to feel nostalgic for his sister’s moods, but here he is.

“I told him we’d have good fortune if we took to the road,” Guang Hong says, raising his voice pointedly. “He thought we wouldn’t last a week.” He lowers his voice to a hush once more. “Seriously, though, we might not have if you hadn’t come along. I don’t know if I could survive a second night without a fire.”

Yuuri laughs, covering his mouth. “Where have you come from? You said it’s not far? I’m hoping to find a village and spend a night in a real bed soon.”

“We’re only a day from home,” Seung-gil says, re-emerging from behind the wagon with an iron pot in one hand and a flask in the other. “Good, since we’ll have to head back soon for supplies if we’re going to feed every stranger we come across.” 

Guang Hong opens his mouth to start another argument. The back door to the wagon slams open loudly, startling the unicorn back up to his feet. 

“Look what I just found!” A third boy leaps from the back of the wagon, a leather-bound book held over his head like a trophy. 

The boy freezes, staring directly at the unicorn.

 _He sees me,_ the unicorn says, stepping a bit closer to the fire. _Boy, what do you see?_

The boy continues to stare fixedly at the unicorn, the flickering fire casting shadows of longing over his awed expression. He slowly lowers the book to his chest, but doesn’t answer the question.

Yuuri shoots a look at the unicorn. He wants desperately to ask what’s going on, but knows he can’t give the game away early by seeming to speak to his horse. 

_He can’t hear me,_ the unicorn says, abruptly disinterested. _He has no gift of magic, only true belief._

Yuuri lets out the breath he’d been holding in relief and looks down to see he’s holding his cloak in his lap, worrying the hem with his fingers. He lays it back on the rock beside him. “Excuse me, Guang Hong,” Yuuri says, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice. “But has your friend never seen a _horse_ before?”

The unicorn turns his back to the fire again, and the third boy’s gaze slowly slides from his rump over to Yuuri’s position on the rocks.

Guang Hong throws an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s just how Leo gets,” Guang Hong says, sounding like a proud parent. “He’s fascinated by all kinds of animals. It’s because he’s a nudist.”

Leo turns bright red from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Stop telling people I’m a nudist,” he hisses, shoving the other boy off of him. “The word is _naturalist_.”

Seung-gil edges around them, placing the iron pot onto the fire and beginning to drop in ingredients from a pouch. Yuuri watches closely as he adds vegetables and tubers, tuning out the rest of the group. He even spots what might be a few small chunks of meat. The food isn’t even cooking yet, and his mouth is already watering. 

Guang Hong plops himself down on one of the stones beside Yuuri. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Seung-gil is actually a really good cook.” Yuuri frowns up at the boy, who explains, “You were staring at him so intently, I thought maybe you were worried about the food.”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri says, wadding up his cloak against his leg to make room for Leo to join them on the other side. “I’m just really hungry,” he explains, chuckling.

“You’ve been on the road a while then?” Leo crouches on the fire-warmed rock with them. “Did you travel far? Have you seen a lot of,” his eyes dart over to where the unicorn lies, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, “ _Unusual_ creatures?” 

The weight on Yuuri’s shoulders lightens as Leo plays along with the unicorn’s disguise, but he still hesitates to respond to the question. He’s been travelling for most of a year, but that was with Lilia and the others. Given how he left them, he’s not eager to provide information to anyone who might cross paths with the school soon.

“We don’t mean to pry,” Guang Hong says, grinning. “We’re just curious. We heard a lot of tales back home, but none of us have ever traveled before.”

“Really?” Yuuri shoots a glance at Seung-gil to confirm, but he doesn’t look up from stirring the soup. “What brought you all out here, then?”

“It’s my fault,” Leo admits, tugging at his forelock. “I always dreamed as a child that someday I’d get to travel the realm and build a catalogue of all the plants and creatures I found along the way.” He passes the leather-bound tome he was carrying to Yuuri, who opens it carefully. The pages inside are full of sketches and notes on all types of creatures, from the tiny biting flies that gather in the summer to a full-color drawing of an enormous draft horse hitched to a plow.

“Wow,” Yuuri says, flipping through the pages. “You drew all of these yourself?”

“Yes,” Leo says, face flushed. “But I’m not much of a naturalist if all I can study are the animals in the fields around our village, so I made Guang Hong promise that he’d travel with me someday.”

“And I roped in Seung-gil,” Guang Hong proclaims, raising his fist in victory. “Because we needed a wagon, and his parents already owned one. Now we get to travel the whole world in exchange for selling a few bits of cloth.”

Seung-gil shakes his head at that, adding, “Assuming we survive out here long enough to sell anything.”

Yuuri continues to flip through the pages of Leo’s book. He catches on a drawing of a beautiful blue butterfly, ornate black curleques decorating the tips of its wings. The detail of the coloring is so precise, it feels like it could spring to life under Yuuri’s fingertips and flutter away. He turns the page again and meets the sickly pink eyes and yellowed grin of a harpy. The book drops from his nerveless fingers.

It lands on its spine in the dirt, and Leo scoops it back up with a cry of dismay before any sparks can catch on the pages.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri blurts out, tangling his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “I’m so sorry. The harpy startled me, is all. I didn’t mean to drop it.”

“It’s fine,” Leo says, but he's still frowning, wiping dirt from the pages with his sleeve. “I don’t think you hurt anything.”

“Did you really see a harpy near here?” Yuuri can’t shake the image from his mind, though he’d only seen the page briefly: the thin, dark hair hanging limp around the creatures face, her twisted, jagged grin, and that hand, gnarled and clawed like an eagle, raised to seize her prey. 

The three travelers look at each other for a moment. “Yes,” Guang Hong says reluctantly. He pushes the dirt by the fire around with his toe, making a sloppy figure-eight. “Some places in the world are very dangerous. In the lands beyond our village, there have been hardships. People have died on the road. At the tavern, you hear rumors of bandits haunting the mountain passes and attacking weary travellers.”

“Magical creatures are rare,” Leo says, hugging his sketchbook close to his chest as he sits back down on the rocks. “But anywhere you can find death and destruction, you can still find a harpy.”

“What about the magician?” Seung-gil asks suddenly, sitting back on his heels. The smells of sweet carrot and rich meat are starting to waft up from the cook pot in front of him. “Surely he’s seen magical creatures in his travels.”

“A few,” Yuuri admits, ducking his head with a private smile. “A griffin once followed the group I traveled with for two days. I think we may have been passing too close to her roost. And when I was small, a boy in the village convinced me he’d seen a manticore stalking around my house at night. I heard it howling for my blood, and I started weeping. My mother couldn’t console me.” He laughs then, and shakes his head. “Then I heard a very un-manticore-like yelp and my father drug the boy into our hut by his ear.”

“Leo has the right of it,” he says, looking up from his clasped hands. “Magical creatures are rare even when you travel far away. Most I’ve only read about in books.” He looks over his shoulder at the unicorn. The creature’s back is still toward the fire, but his ears are at attention. He’s listening to every word.

“What about unicorns?” Leo says. Yuuri whips his head back toward the fire, watching Leo closely. His expression is blank aside from a polite smile. “Ever seen one of them?”

“No,” Yuuri says, leaning back against the rocks. He’s trying for casual, but catches his fingers clawing at his legs without his permission. He stops. “I heard they’re extinct,” he bluffs.

“I think all the magical creatures are dying off,” Guang Hong says, and Yuuri and Leo both turn sharply to look at him. “An old man I talked to at the tavern said that all the magic is fading from the world. When the magic is gone, all the magical creatures and enchanted woods will disappear too.”

“That’s stupid,” Seung-gil says, his affect flat as ever. “Don’t trust the word of an old man in his cups when you’re literally talking to a Magician right now.” He raises his eyebrows, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Also, food’s ready.”

“Soup!” Guang Hong declares, popping to his feet. He scurries over to the back of the wagon, then returns a few seconds later with bowls and spoons. He passes Yuuri an old wooden tankard. “We only have three bowls,” he says, shrugging.

Yuuri reassures him that it’s fine, then leans across the fire to ladle some of the hot soup into his cup. He settles back onto the rocks, blowing on the food to cool it faster. The steam rising from the tankard smells heavenly after so long on the road with Lilia, surviving off beans and bread with the occasional night of _cabbage soup_ , and it’s hard to resist gulping down the fresh stew, even though he knows it would burn his mouth.

“You all seem to have heard a lot of rumors at your tavern,” Yuuri says as he waits for the others to fill their bowls. “Have you ever heard anything about some kind of… magical bull?” He clutches his cup tightly, unsure if the question might rouse suspicion. 

“Yakov’s bull, you mean?” Guang Hong doesn’t sound concerned, more preoccupied making sure the soup doesn’t slop into the fire as he serves himself. “Yeah, you hear _plenty_ about that around here.” He looks up at Yuuri and shrugs. “Never seen it, though.”

“What is it?” Yuuri crosses his legs, pulling the heat of the tankard against his chest. “Back home, I’d never heard of such a thing.”

Guang Hong and Leo exchange a brief look as they settle back onto their seats on either side of Yuuri. 

“King Yakov’s realm lies east of our village,” Leo says, gesturing down the road in the direction Yuuri and the unicorn have been walking. “I’ve only been that way once. That was the time we saw the harpy.” He licks his lips and then stares into his soup bowl. “No one from home really travels that direction.”

“I don’t really know much about the bull either,” Guang Hong admits. “I’ve heard it’s just an ordinary bull the king keeps in a pen, or else it’s a magic bull he sends out to destroy his enemies. One traveler told me that it’s King Yakov himself in disguise, and then another started arguing with him that it was a ghost.”

Guang Hong shrugs, adding, “Then they got into a fist fight over it and the innkeeper had to throw them both out into the gutter.”

“My mother saw the bull once,” Seung-gil says quietly. The others all look up from their bowls, watching him as the flame flickers across his face and highlights his black hair with streaks of deep red. “She was just a girl when it came through the village one night. It woke her from a deep sleep, breathing loudly, it’s snout pressed to the dirt outside the cottage like a hound trailing a rabbit.”

“She said it was so black you could barely see it at night,” he continues, staring into the flames. “Just a shadow over the moon. And then it bellowed so loudly it shook the walls of the house, and it was gone.”

The silence that follows his words lingers, interrupted only by the pop of the fire and the insects which sing on around them, oblivious to human moods. 

Then Guang Hong loudly slurps his soup, and the specter of the bull vanishes like so much smoke. The atmosphere lightens and Yuuri leans back against the rocks to finally enjoy a meal that features no beans, no beans at all. 

He relaxes, listening to the friendly banter between the three other boys - well, mostly Guang Hong and Leo. It reminds him of the meals he took with the other apprentices while on the road with Lilia, and he feels the first real twinge in his heart at losing that connection. Wherever the others are right now, he hopes they will forgive what he did someday. 

Once the soup has been dispensed, Guang Hong pops into the wagon and comes back out with an armful of brightly-colored braided rugs. “So you don’t have to sleep on the dirt,” he explains. 

Yuuri thanks him profusely and layers the rugs out on the ground next to the fire. He feeds it a couple small logs to keep it lit just a bit longer as the others all retire into the back of the wagon. 

Once the rugs are in a nice pile, he curls up on them, pulling his cloak up over his chest as a blanket. With his back to the fire, he can see the light glinting off the unicorn’s eyes, changing their cerulean to orange. _The bull is real,_ the unicorn says, blinking at Yuuri from behind the rocks. _If people have seen it, I know it must be real._

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers, pillowing his head on his arm. “But other than that, we don’t know much else. There’s this King Yakov - who is he? And then there are more rumors, but it’s all second-hand, third-hand gossip from drunks and children.” 

He’s interrupted by a yawn, then settles deeper under his cloak. “We need more information if we’re going to find the other unicorns.”

 _We?_ The unicorn asks, but Yuuri doesn’t answer, already drifting off with the warm fire at his back and a full belly. 

He dreams of the beach at home. He’s young and barefoot, revelling in the sand between his toes as he and his friends squeal and dance away from the ocean spray, taunting the waves to lick at their heels. He smiles in his sleep, and the unicorn lies awake nearby, keeping watch.

-

Yuuri is awakened the next morning by the clatter and rustle of movement. He opens his eyes to see Guang Hong bent over the final embers of the fire. The remaining wood hisses and sputters, throwing up thick clouds of grey smoke as Guang Hong stirs water into the ashes.

“Good morning,” Yuuri mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. The sun’s first light is barely sketching out the horizon. He fumbles for his glasses and then squints toward the east, where the silhouettes of mountains rise like jagged teeth in the distance. 

“Morning,” Guang Hong responds, grinning far too much for the predawn hour. “Sorry to wake you so early, but we need to move along.”

“No, this is fine.” Yuuri staggers to his feet and looks back over his shoulder. The unicorn is staring passively at the sunrise, more resembling a marble sculpture than anything of blood and bone. He shakes his head, snapping the illusion. “We need to be on the road soon as well.”

Though his head is still muddled and his muscles are weak with sleep, Yuuri does his best to help the others pack up their camp and get their old horse hitched to the front of the wagon. He’s still stroking the beast’s velvety nose when Leo pops up beside him, holding out a burlap sack on a long strap.

“What’s this?” Yuuri asks, taking the bag.

“A gift,” Leo says, holding up a hand to forestall Yuuri’s protests. “We couldn’t just let you go on the rest of the way with nothing to remember us by. It’s not much, just an old sack with some trinkets and a skin of water. I’m sorry there’s no food - Seung-gil would murder us if we gave away any more of the rations.”

Yuuri clutches onto the opening of the sack, holding it close to his chest. “That’s more than enough. Thank you.” 

“We all know the old stories,” Leo says, resting his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “When you meet a magic man on your journey, you’re supposed to treat them well, right? I hope you’ll bring us good fortune.” He pats Yuuri’s arm, then climbs up the wagon wheel onto the driving seat and settles in beside Guang Hong and Seung-gil. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri says again, bowing slightly. “For the food, and this gift, and the company as well.” 

“Thank you for the fire,” Guang Hong calls, waving as Seung-gil clucks to the horse, turning their wagon back toward the road. “Have a good journey!” As the wagon pulls away, Guang Hong leans dangerously over the side from his seat, still waving as he calls out, “And good luck to you too, Unicorn!”

Yuuri’s jaw drops, and he stands fixed as the wagon trundles away.

 _Come along, then,_ the unicorn says, snapping Yuuri out of his own head. _The village they spoke of shouldn’t be too much further._

“Right,” Yuuri mumbles, trailing after the unicorn. He can’t stop glancing back toward the wagon. “It should only be about a day’s journey more.”

 _Did you want to go with them instead?_ Yuuri looks up, focusing on the swish of the unicorn’s tail. The flowing tuft at the end stirs up dust from the road like a broom, and Yuuri coughs slightly and quickens his pace. _Our bargain was to get you to the next village, but you could have left with them if you’d prefer._

“No,” Yuuri says, holding the burlap rucksack closer to his chest, looking down at the beat of his own boots against the well-worn road. “This is good. I hope maybe I can be of some use to you still, before we part.”

The unicorn says nothing and Yuuri swallows and rubs at his face. The dust from the road must be getting in his eyes. He scrabbles at the drawstring on the burlap sack, looking for the skin of water Leo mentioned.

“Wow,” Yuuri breathes, staring into the bag. In addition to the water skin, there are ribbons - maybe twenty of them in a cornucopia of bright colors. As he reaches in for the water, his hand brushes up against a folded piece of paper, and he fishes that out first. 

Despite what Leo had said, Yuuri unfolds the thick brownish paper to find two ration bars carefully wrapped inside. On the inner surface of the paper is a sketch in what Yuuri recognizes as Leo’s careful hand. A dark lump lies curled on the ground, draped with fabric, its features indistinguishable. Behind the figure lies the unicorn, staring out of the picture with his deep sea blue eyes unblinking. 

Yuuri stares at the image, as captivated by the unicorn set to paper as he is the real thing. 

His toe catches on a rock in the road, and the stumbles forward, scrambling to keep hold of the food, the bag, and the drawing all at once. He overbalances and lists against the unicorn’s side, catching himself with an elbow on the crest of his neck. Yuuri freezes, and the unicorn steps back quickly.

“Sorry,” Yuuri gasps, all of his items a jumbled pile in his arms now. He carefully adjusts, trying to drop everything back into the bag without harming any of it. “I didn’t mean to.”

 _No,_ the unicorn says, stepping back toward Yuuri. _It’s fine. You startled me, but I… do not mind it._

“Oh,” Yuuri says. “Okay.”

Neither of them moves for a moment, each watching the other as a rabbit eyes the twitching tail of a fox. Finally, the unicorn nods down the road. Yuuri shoulders the rucksack and reaches out carefully. The unicorn keeps his eyes fixed on Yuuri, quivering, and then his hand rests atop the unicorn’s neck, his fingers tangling into the silvery waterfall of mane.

Beneath his hand, the unicorn feels warmer than a body ought to be, and Yuuri’s fingers begin to tingle. The sensation runs up his arm and raises the hairs at the nape of his neck, leaving him flustered. 

“Is this okay with you?” Yuuri asks. He glances over, checking if the unicorn feels this too, but sees no sign that anything is out of place. 

_Yes,_ the unicorn says softly. _This is fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come at me, bro](http://louciferish.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Also, exciting news: I'm getting married in **less that two weeks???** Just a heads up to anyone hoping for updates on some sort of dependable schedule: please let me live. XD


	4. The Fork In The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A debt is discharged, and a choice is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much gratitude as always to [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling) and [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome) for their incredibly tolerant beta work.
> 
> And to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for the lovely banner and listening to me whine almost daily, _especially_ when I'm overthinking things.

_I no mate, no kin, have known;_  
_None may claim me as his own;_  
_One is one, and all alone,_  
_It must be._  
\- "Unicorn", Nicholas Stuart Gray

It takes a day and then some for the two weary travelers to finally crest the last hill and lay eyes on the little village in the distance. Yuuri sighs at the first sight of the squat brown and white buildings, smoke rising steadily from their chimneys to meet the clouds as brothers.

“I’m going to sleep in a bed tonight,” Yuuri says, grinning over at the unicorn. “A real bed, with blankets, and before that, a hot meal.” 

Despite their best efforts to reach to the village in good time, a human and a unicorn on foot do not travel at the same steady pace as a fully-supplied wagon. The day’s journey which the merchants had assured them lay ahead had stretched all too easily and left them spending yet another night making their beds on the rocky soil beneath a blanket of stars. The unicorn had gone to work as he had vowed, assisting Yuuri as he foraged for berries and quickly identifying any lurking threat of poison. 

Although Yuuri had not uttered a single complaint about their circumstances, the unicorn had only pretended he couldn’t hear Yuuri’s stomach grumbling as they lay down for the night. More than once he has found himself wondering if all humans are so stubborn, despite their fragility, or if that is only Yuuri. It’s foolish, but impressive.

Seeing the village stretched out beneath them seems to newly inspire the travel-weary magician, who picks up his pace going down the hill. His fingers tug at the unicorn’s mane impatiently. By the time their feet return to flat land, the unicorn is trotting to keep up, tossing his head. He had forgotten how good it could feel to stretch his legs, having put running aside these past few days in favor of a pace Yuuri could keep up with.

The sounds and smells of human society, both pleasant and less so, drift toward them on the winds, and the unicorn slows his steps once more until Yuuri is in the lead. He’s so eager to each the borders of the town that he doesn’t seem to notice his hand stretched out behind, fingers still tangled in the unicorn’s mane. 

The unicorn realizes a bit sheepishly that he hadn’t registered the touch himself until now, when the slight tug edges toward unpleasant. They’re rapidly approaching the human settlement, and this is not somewhere he can safely follow, but Yuuri’s excitement is contagious, and the unicorn finds himself reluctant to tell the magician to stop.

Finally he simply plants his hooves where he stands, forcing Yuuri to stop short in the road some distance from the first buildings. Yuuri turns back, his brow furrowed into lines of confusion. His smile slowly fades as he begins to understand why they’ve halted.

 _I cannot go any further and risk someone unfriendly seeing me for what I am,_ the unicorn says, as gently as he can. _Our accord was that I would bring you to the village. Do you agree that I have done so?_

Yuuri bites his lip, looking back over his shoulder at the thatched rooftops and stacked rock fences of the town. “Yes,” he says quietly. “You’ve kept your promise to me. I didn’t die in the woods.” His lips quirk slightly, and he pats his chest as if checking its soundness. “At least, I don’t think I did.” 

_Then we are at our end._ The unicorn lowers his head. _My debt to you is discharged._

“I suppose it is,” Yuuri agrees. The magician returns his slight bow, but does not raise his eyes from the ground. “Thank you for keeping me safe, and for your companionship. I will…” he trails off momentarily and clears his throat before continuing. “I will treasure it.”

Yuuri meets the unicorn’s eyes again, and there is a spark in his gaze that the unicorn has not seen since that night in the caravan. Somewhere deep within the magician, he knows a fire is smoldering, awaiting the day when it is called. 

“Good luck with your quest,” Yuuri finishes. The light in his eyes abates, and his shoulders slump. “I wish you well.”

They stand for a moment, and the unicorn watches as the breeze ruffles the boy’s cloak and throws his hair into disarray. Finally, he says, _You are still holding my mane._

Yuuri flushes, starting at his cheekbones and spreading rapidly to the tips of his ears. “Oh, sorry. I guess I forgot.” He pulls his hand free, trailing a final faint touch on the unicorn’s neck before he lets go entirely. 

When Yuuri withdraws, it feels as though a veil has fallen over the unicorn’s eyes. Everything around them is the same, but a little bit of brightness has gone out of the world. He shakes his head as if to knock the shroud loose, though he knows there’s no point. It’s been many years since he felt the touch of another’s magic as it mingled with his own, complimentary but not identical. The sensation has been more compelling than he’d expected.

When Yuuri makes no move to walk away, the unicorn is forced to withdraw instead. He backs away carefully, then turns, picking his way across the dusty fields away from the road. There’s a little stream which runs through the village, and around it, meager trees have sprung up into something locals might think of as a forest, though it is a pale imitation of an enchanted wood. The unicorn heads toward this cover, far from the eyes of the people in the town.

He can feel Yuuri still watching his back until he disappears, retreating fully among the trees.

Once he’s safely in the forest, he weaves his way between the roots and rocks until he finds himself standing on the emerald moss that carpets the stony banks of the stream. The water is shallow and clear, smooth stones shining just below the surface, and it would be no great feat for the unicorn to splash through and continue his journey, leaving both the village and the magician well behind him.

Instead, he hesitates, watching the little silver slips of fish seemingly suspended in the water beneath his feet. Although they appear to be unmoving, he knows they are struggling, pushing their tiny bodies constantly against the relentless pressure of the current. 

The unicorn closes his eyes and seeks answers from his own heart and the deep well of magic within it. Ahead, he sees the road stretch out before him. Dusty and lifeless, the path leads on and on, perhaps even _to the edge of the world_ , as Christophe had told him. His heart clenches, and he pushes aside the sorrow reflexively. There is no purpose to missing his friend _now_ , so many days and miles apart. This is the choice he made, setting out on this quest alone.

But, then, he has not been alone. For days he has walked the same road as Yuuri and drank from the same stream. Yuuri had saved his life, and the unicorn in turn has watched over him on the road, protected him from harm, and guarded his sleep. Now, the days ahead promise freedom, but also solitude. He can run without Yuuri holding him to a human’s pace, but divided, both are vulnerable. Within his breast, a shadow stirs, reaching for him. It tastes like fear. 

The unicorn looks for his reflection in the stream and finds that he is trembling. He steps back from the water and curls up within a deep hollow in the ground nearby, formed by the entangled roots of two of the oldest trees. 

Once he has stilled himself, he can see the small eyes watching him from all around. A chipmunk perches on a nearby root, a few little birds cluster in the branches above, and a brown rabbit peeks out from her burrow; all of them have their eyes trained on the unicorn, curious and awed. The creatures are familiar, but they are not known to him. They are not the friends he left behind so rashly. 

The sorrow he shoved aside with so little care before now rushes back at him like a gust of the north wind. Utterly alone, but safe for the time being, he lowers his head as the feeling overwhelms him.

-

Yuuri watches the unicorn walk into the trees until he’s nothing but a ghostly outline in the distance. When there is nothing left to see, Yuuri removes his spectacles and wipes the lenses on his cloak before placing them back on his nose. 

He turns abruptly and continues down the road into the village. He only looks back twice.

Although Yuuri is tempted to withdraw into himself, the hum of life flowing through the village renders that impossible. It’s a bustling place from the moment he passes the first building, and each step toward the central square brings more sounds of humanity, talking and laughing and yelling at one another. 

Three boys dash past him on the road, one with chestnut hair and the other two jet black, all yelling in pursuit of a big grey and white dog with a curled tail. As they run by, one of the boys looks back to check Yuuri out, and he recognizes a familiar quirk of the boy’s eyebrow. Yuuri smiles to himself. Seung-gil hadn’t mentioned family much, but the resemblance is undeniable.

The central square of the village looks much like Yuuri’s home: it’s plain, dusty, and absolutely vibrating with activity. A woman sings as she hangs her laundry out the window. A tall man with curly blond hair plays a flute as he sits on the rim of the town well. The shopkeepers and bakers lean from their stalls beneath handsome signs depicting their wares, calling out to the passersby. 

It’s both thrilling and a little overwhelming. Yuuri covertly checks his belt pouch and fingers the pile of gold, silver, and copper coins. He’s never traveled this far east before, but he should have more than enough for both the supplies he needs and a night at the inn.

He makes his way to the shops first, because those are likely to close at sunset. He buys a second water skin as backup from the tanner, then stops for bread and oaty ration bars at the bakery. A farmer at one stall who speaks very little of the common tongue manages to sell him a bit of jerky, although they don’t share enough language for the man to tell him what kind of animal the meat comes from.

Yuuri stops last at a textile shop across from the inn. He ducks in among the hanging samples of linen, silk, and wool. The familiar colors bring another small smile to his face, which widens when he sees the woman tidying the product, her long black hair piled hurriedly on top of her head and fingertips stained dark by the dyes.

He picks out a full length wool cloak dyed the same deep blue as the night sky, a spare set of underthings, and a new pair of plain trousers. It leaves his belt feeling much lighter. He opens his mouth a few times during the transaction to say something to the woman about Seung-gil and the others, but she looks so harried throughout that he winds up leaving without a word aside from his thanks.

With his new cloak draped across his arm and the sun slowly descending behind the thatched rooftops, Yuuri crosses the square to the inn. He pushes his glasses up his nose, squinting at the sign above the door that depicts a gold crown over a leaping stag: The King’s Hart.

He locates the innkeeper at the bar. The proprietor is a stocky older man with dirt brown hair cropped short and narrow eyes. He watches Yuuri closely and keeps his responses short, but he takes Yuuri’s coin readily enough, and Yuuri walks away satisfied by the promise of a hot meal and a decent bed.

He settles in on one of the benches at the common table, holding his rucksack and cloak close to his thigh in case of pickpockets. The tavern area is all plain, dark wood and heavy beams, lit only sporadically by nubby candles and the big fire beneath the stew pot. The room is hot and hazy with smoke, and the air is crowded with the sounds of conversation. Someone at the other end of the table laughs, donkey-like, and Yuuri jumps. He takes a deep breath to settle his nerves, but that only sets him to coughing, and a stranger stops juggling his beers to thump Yuuri on the back in a way that was probably intended to help.

It sets his teeth on edge, but he chokes out a thanks. The seed of a headache unfurls at his temples.

When the barmaid at last slides a hunk of bread and a bowl of stew in his direction, Yuuri is grateful in a way that goes far beyond hunger. The stew is good enough, rich with the flavor of lamb and butter and near-dissolved potatoes, but there’s an emptiness brewing in Yuuri’s core that the food doesn’t satisfy.

He’d come in here wanting food and sleep, sure, but there’d also been a vague idea that maybe he’d learn something useful, overhear some gossip about the bull like Guang Hong had mentioned. The atmosphere now that he’s inside, laden with the smells and sounds of many humans in a closed area, is making him realize he may have overestimated his ability to mingle.

Yuuri finishes his meal and pushes back from the table, grabbing his belongings. He locates the innkeeper standing near the fire and stirring the stew, his hair darkened with sweat. 

“Excuse me,” he interrupts the man. “I’d like to go to my room, please?”

The innkeeper nods toward the stairs. “Second door on the left,” he grunts, then turns back to the cauldron.

Yuuri shifts his weight, slinging his back up over his shoulder. If he goes to bed without even asking anyone what they’ve heard, he’s going to really feel like a fool. He licks his lips and then coughs slightly, catching the innkeeper’s attention again.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says, and the man leans closer to hear, so Yuuri raises his voice a bit. “I’m looking for information about King Yakov’s bull. Have you heard anything?”

The noise of the room seems muted in comparison with his own voice, but Yuuri can’t tell if the other patrons have truly gone silent or it’s just his own nervous perception. The innkeeper squints back at him. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” Yuuri looks down at the floor. “My apologies. I’d heard that this village was close to Yakov’s kingdom. Is that not true?”

“King Yakov rules over yonder,” the man says, jerking his head in the direction of the road. “From here to his castle would take you most of a week, if you survive the journey. Lots of traffic on that road, but headed in the _other_ direction, if you get my drift.” He turns back to the cauldron.

“And the bull?” Yuuri ventures one more time, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. The innkeeper shrugs, but doesn’t look back at Yuuri again. With a sigh, he turns to the stairs to find his room. At least he still gets a bed out of this.

The room is small and already pitch black, the sun having gone to bed just as early as Yuuri. It’s sweltering from the rising heat of the cooking fires on the ground floor, so he opens a window, letting the cool night air stream in and displace the smoke. 

He feels around in the dim starlight and finally locates a single half-melted candle on the washstand. He snaps his fingers and lights the wick, then raises the candle for a better look at the room. It’s a plain space, just a simple copper wash basin on a stand in the corner and a rope bed shoved against the wall, but after a few days sleeping in the dirt, it looks like paradise.

He couldn’t justify spending the extra coin for a real bath, but hurriedly strips down to dunk his head in the basin, then rinses the ghost of the road from his body with the strips of cloth provided. Once he’s changed into his new underclothes, he throws the dirty water out the window and refills it with the pitcher to scrub out the things he was wearing, hanging them at the foot of the bed to dry in the breeze.

All the cleaning leaves him feeling better, but also exhausted. Yuuri drops onto the bed, burrowing into the mattress. He closes his eyes, expecting sleep to rise swiftly up to meet him.

Some time later, he finds himself still staring up at the thick wooden beams spanning the ceiling. 

He could blame his lack of sleep on the mattress, which is lumpy with unevenly stuffed straw and smells like a burning stable. He could try to blame the noise from downstairs, as more raucous laughter filters up from the drunkards below. 

But the fact is that the problem is Yuuri’s own mind, which won’t stop spinning despite the heavy blanket of fatigue on his body. The unicorn had done as he’d promised, and Yuuri is now resupplied as he wanted, but now he’s left with a question remaining: what next? 

To head west would mean a very long journey home, and without the protection of traveling in Lilia’s caravan he’ll be without shelter or even a horse and vulnerable to brigands unless he can find new companions. Being able to read and write, he can likely earn a few coins along the way doing that, but it will be hard, and at the end he’ll be back at his family home, no better than when he left.

Although he knows his Mama and Papa would be thrilled to see him home again so soon, his heart clenches at the thought of having to tell them he failed. The village had been so overjoyed to see him off on his apprenticeship. He would never be able to outrun the guilt of letting everyone down.

If he walks east from here, he will be at even greater risk. He closes his eyes and sees the image of the harpy from Leo’s sketches, seared across the inside of his eyelids. Her yellow teeth are bared in a fierce and skeletal grin. He knows there are many dangers on the path to Yakov’s castle, especially for someone travelling alone. What good could possibly come of walking east?

But he knows the answer to that: the unicorn. Yuuri sighs and puts both hands over his face. It all comes down to the unicorn. Yuuri may very well be the first magician in a generation to lay hands on a unicorn, and the _last_ unicorn on top of that, and now he’s let all of that go. He had stood in the road and said nothing, allowing the call of fate to go unanswered.

He flips onto his stomach and buries himself in the mattress, frustrated to the edge of tears and wanting desperately to sleep. It’s pointless. What use is a second-rate apprentice magician to a unicorn anyway? Most days Yuuri can’t even decide on a spell to darn his socks without spending hours in the library first. 

At some point, his body overrides his brain and he falls into a restless slumber. In his dreams, he’s back at the caravan. Lilia stands behind him with a hand gripping his shoulder. They’re surrounded by the rest of the apprentices, who are all grinning at him. They have the same yellow teeth as the harpy. He looks back, and Lilia’s eyes are pink.

“Congratulations your graduation,” Georgi crows. “We got you a gift. Open it, magician.”

“Yes!” Lilia squeezes his shoulder, and her long fingernails carve his flesh. “Open it.”

Anya hands him a little wooden cage, barely bigger than his belt pouch. He holds it up to his face and squints between the bars. The unicorn inside is the size of a rat, but his dark blue eyes pull Yuuri in, deeper than the sea.

 _There is magic in everything you’ve done,_ the unicorn whispers in his mind. _I can feel it all around you, like a stormcloud. Now, **free me**._

Yuuri raises the cage up over his head with both hands and smashes it into the ground.

He opens his eyes and sees only the dark brown beams of the inn once more. Outside the window, the birds are trilling, welcoming the first light of false dawn on the horizon. The dream is still lingering in the corners of his mind as Yuuri sits up in bed and slides his feet onto the cold wooden floor. 

He fumbles to get his spectacles from the table and slips them on. The world springs into focus around him, and he crumples the bed linens in his fist. Head west, the logical part of his brain insists. Go home with your tail between your legs and beg your family for their forgiveness.

Yet there is something else screaming at him, and in the dim pre-dawn light he can hear it clearly. _Go east_ , it insists. _No matter what it takes, no matter the risk, you must go. If you hurry, you may catch him by nightfall._

Yuuri gets up, lights the candle, and grabs his rucksack. He starts rolling up his clothes, now dry on the bed frame, and stuffing them in the bag. Going home is the logical choice, but what he wants is to be wherever the unicorn is. Surely a magician can be of some use in his quest, even an indecisive one.

He gets dressed quickly, flings his new cloak over his shoulders and snatches up his rucksack. If Yuuri must beg the unicorn to let him come along, then he will, but he can’t simply stay here and give up. He has to at least try for what he wants, otherwise he’ll have lost his apprenticeship for nothing.

Downstairs, he’s greeted with the droning snores of men curled up on rugs by the hearth or collapsed onto the common tables where they sit. The innkeeper is nowhere in sight, but the barmaid looks up from cleaning to watch him tiptoe out. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes follow him all the way to the door.

The central square is still silent and dark. A few homes are warmly lit within by early risers, and he can hear the clatter of tools already being put to work in the baker’s shop, but it's a far cry from the busy, noisy place he walked into the day before. 

Yuuri walks quietly through the village until he finds himself again standing at a precipice, on that border between the final cottage and the place where the road opens up. Behind him is safety and humanity and civilization. Ahead lies the unknown, still shrouded in darkness. The road vanishes over a hill, backlit by the gleam of the oncoming sun. Above, the moon is like a silver fang, still encircled by a few fading stars. 

The magician resettles his sack against his shoulder and steps out onto the road. 

He feels naked and exposed, walking alone, but there’s no other choice. He lengthens his stride and picks up the pace. Hopefully, he can catch up to the unicorn quickly. After that? He will deal with the questions as they come. 

Yuuri puts everything he has into climbing the steep hill ahead, then pauses at the top to take in the view. Beneath his feet stretch fields of brown dotted with green like spots on a youth’s face. The sun, just peeking over the horizon, sets fire to the mountains in the distance and turns the valleys to shadow. It’s an alien landscape, a far cry from the gentle plains and sandy hills around Hasetsu or the towering forests through which he passed with Lilia and the others. It looks desolate. 

The rising sun catches on something unnoticed in the scrubby forest beside the road, and Yuuri turns to look. Something white is moving among the trees, and he freezes. The unicorn - he waited? Yuuri opens his mouth to call out, but his voice catches in his throat.

The white blur gallops out of the trees toward him, and Yuuri, distracted by the glimmering sunrise and the pounding of his own traitorous heart, doesn’t realize it’s just a horse until it’s too late. The rider is crouched low on his mount’s neck, and a second, chestnut steed follows close on their heels.

As Yuuri turns to run, his voice finally breaks free of its bonds, and he cries out wordlessly. Then, the world goes dark. 

Yuuri’s toe catches on something and he falls to the ground, scraping the palms of his hands raw as he catches himself. Before he can reach up to free his head from his blind, he’s pushed into the ground. He can feel the dull stones of the road digging into his cheek and his chest as the unknown assailant holds him down with a foot pressing hard against his spine. He pulls Yuuri’s arms back roughly, binding them behind his back with some type of cord. 

Yuuri is hauled upward by his arms and tossed across the back of one of the horses like a sack of flour. The rider swings up behind him, kneeing Yuuri in the cheek in the process, and then they’re off, jostling away to who-knows-where. He calls out into the darkness, but the only response that earns him is a painful swat to his head from his captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come at me, bro](http://louciferish.tumblr.com/)


	5. The King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets the King and his Fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling) and [Chrome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome) for their beta fortitude in the face of great adversity. <3
> 
> And to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for the incredible banner and always being the first cheerleader on every chapter and/or stupid idea. <3333

_"And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent young maidens you always come to? How dare you! How dare you come to me now, when I am this!_ " - The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

The unicorn lies cradled among the roots in a bower of umber soil and emerald moss, listening to the morning song of the birds as it harmonizes with the babble of the creek. He had passed the long night in the darkness by watching the movement of the creatures who only venture out beneath the light of the moon. He’d seen a great many foxes as well as a few badgers and heard the cry of a great owl somewhere above, but throughout the night and even now, there hasn’t been so much as the snap of a twig that he might attribute to a human footstep.

Before the unicorn left his forest, he had sometimes slept for days on end, stretching out in the sun and allowing the world to pass around him as he remained untouched by time. Yesterday he had entered this strange new wood, found berth among the trees, and closed his eyes, expecting everything to be as it always had. Instead, he found sleep uncooperative. 

Even as Yuuri had slept on the road, the unicorn always remained alert, watching, and now sleep does not come even when he beckons it. Instead, he is haunted by faded, half-remembered images of those he has left behind, and his heavy heart finds no rest.

Dawn dissolves the blackness around him, transforming it to dappled shadows that dance across the fallen leaves on the forest floor. He hears birds coming in to roost, their wings beating the air in panic, and he lifts his head at the sound of approaching hooves, heavy against the sod. 

There’s a muffled cry that doesn’t belong among the frightened birds. It sounds human, but distant. _Yuuri?_ All he can see is the barest shadows of horses passing between the trees, running away from the village. He gathers his legs beneath himself and rises from his hiding place to take a closer look.

The unicorn prances easily through the cold stream, startling the little fishes, and ascends the bank on the other side. He pricks his ears, attuned to the fading sounds of hoofbeats and the scent of metal and straw. He follows.

-

All Yuuri can do is try to relax his muscles and allow himself to bounce around on the back of his captor’s horse. There’s a vague thought that perhaps he’ll be jostled right off the ride, and then he’ll make a run for it, but of course there’s not much chance he’d be able to escape as he is: tied at the wrists, totally blindfolded, and on foot against two men on horseback. 

He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on moving with the rhythm of the animal beneath him.

Finally, the horse slows, then stops. Yuuri tries to slide off the animal’s back to the ground, but he stumbles on the landing, imbalanced by the awkward crouching position the ropes force him into, and lands hard on his butt. 

Someone chuckles above him. At least he’s able to put his kidnappers in a good mood.

“What have we here?” someone asks. The voice is male, boisterous, and confident, but unfamiliar. “Have you brought me a new subject, my faithful knights?”

“Could be,” another man grumbles, his voice low and raspy. “Fancy cloak he’s got there, eh? Looks new, I thought.”

“Looks expensive, he means,” someone else mutters, and more quiet laughter follows.

“Well, let’s have a look at him,” the first voice says, and then the sack is pulled from Yuuri’s face and he finds himself blinking and shaking his head as his eyes adjust to the morning sunlight. 

He finds himself in a small clearing surrounded by trees. Two older men are standing on either side of him in rust-spotted armor. One has an ill-fitted breastplate and greaves, while the other wears the gauntlets and helmet. The men are already turning their backs on Yuuri in favor of tending to their horses.

A burlap sack drops to the ground at Yuuri’s feet, empty, and he looks up to meet a pair of sparkling blue eyes. The man looks to be nearly of an age with Yuuri, and has his black hair cropped unevenly, as if by an inexperienced or inattentive barber. His boots are black and shiny, and his clothing is brightly colored in a way that screams attention and wealth, but not style. He closely resembles the rag pile one might find on the floor of a nobleman, expensive fabrics in a rainbow of shades and styles piled with little regard onto a single human.

“Welcome to our camp, sir,” the man says, executing a sweeping bow and unfurling his cloak in a very practiced dramatic fashion. “I am King Jean-Jacques Leroy, and I believe you’ve already met a few of my loyal subjects.” He gestures around the clearing. 

It’s far from a majestic castle with a mounted guard, just a few grumpy-looking fellows who’ve seen better days crouching in the dirt by a small fire pit. Something is roasting on a spit over the fire that Yuuri can’t identify as food by appearance or smell. There are small canvas tents scattered throughout the edges of the clearing, odd-colored patchwork splashed awkwardly across the tan fabric. Yuuri counts six “loyal subjects” on the ground, but only three horses. 

A comely young woman leans behind a tree to the right, her mahogany hair pulled back from her face with two small braids. She looks completely out of place among the general filth of the camp and the rough-looking men crouched near her feet. Although she’s dressed in only a simple white shirt with a shawl and a grey wool skirt, she has a unique air of nobility. 

The so-called king follows Yuuri’s gaze and grins. His enthusiastic and genuine smile lights up his entire face as he is transformed by love. “Ah, and that is my queen,” he says proudly. “The noble and beautiful Isabella.” Isabella’s returning smile is just as sparkling and genuine as her husband’s. 

Yuuri awkwardly folds his legs underneath him so he can rise to his feet without the use of his bound hands, then gives an unsteady bow. His mother raised him to be courteous, after all. 

“Pardon me, sire,” he says, lifting only his eyes from the submissive posture. “But I had understood this to be the border of King Yakov’s realm. I think perhaps I’ve taken a wrong turn.”

The man barks a laugh, throwing back his head, and Isabella puts a hand over her mouth, only partly concealing her smile. “You’ve taken no wrong turn, but Yakov is no _true_ king,” Leroy proclaims, pointing emphatically at the sky. “He crouches in his castle like an old toad while his people suffer. Why, all my loyal men here have been forced from their homes by hardship and strife, the _direct_ result of that old man’s failed rule.”

Yuuri straightens his back in time to see one of the old men spit into the fire. He fails, and a long trail of spittle drips from his beard. Charming.

Leroy continues to ramble, oblivious to his audience’s divided attention. “The crops withered and failed, the creeks dried up, and disease swept the towns. Yakov’s people cried out for freedom and safety, and what did they receive? Nothing!” He points at Yuuri suddenly, and Yuuri snaps his eyes back to the king.

“I simply could not stand by and allow my people to suffer anymore. I said to myself, JJ, it’s all on you now. Only you have the power to raise a great army and liberate the good people from King Yakov’s terrible reign. And I’ve done exactly as I said I would, haven’t I?” He throws his arms out wide, as if embracing the entire clearing and all its treasures. “Welcome to the resistance headquarters, _Prince Otabek_.”

Yuuri waits, unsure of what to say to that declaration. “Thank you,” he says after a moment, the words sounding more like a question than he intended.

Leroy visibly deflates, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Are you not Prince Otabek?”

“No,” Yuuri says. “I don’t even know who that is.”

“Are you not a spy sent from King Yakov himself to monitor my every movement?” Leroy clasps his hands together, narrowing his eyes at Yuuri in a manner so eager it verges on bloodthirsty.

“No,” Yuuri shrugs. His earlier fear is being quickly replaced by irritation, and he has to fight to keep that edge of annoyance out of his voice. “I’m just a traveler. I was passing through on the road, searching for a friend of mine, when two of your men suddenly took me prisoner and dragged me back here.” He heaves a sigh. “I have no idea who you people are. I’ve never even visited this realm before today.”

Leroy looks back over his shoulder at the two men who had grabbed Yuuri. “What?” one of them asks, kicking a log back into the fire. “He’s got black hair, don’t he?”

“So does JJ,” Isabella says, hands on her hips. “So did some of you, before you became greybeards. Not every man on the road with black hair is the prince in disguise.” 

“That don’t mean he’s not a spy,” the other kidnapper protests, eyeing Yuuri wearily. “Some traveler who’s never been here before? Sounds like what a spy would say. Better to slit his throat and be done with it.”

“Take his cloak off first,” one of the other men suggests with a wet, black smile. “Don’t want to get blood on the nice things.”

Yuuri swallows and lowers his eyes to the ground once more, wishing he knew a quick shrinking spell to make himself look as mousy as he feels. 

JJ turns back to Yuuri and slides his palm down his face. “My men are loyal to a fault,” he says. “They mean well, but they’re quick to jump to violence. It’s just their way. Have you really never heard of King JJ Leroy, dashing leader of the rebel army?” 

How would a spy answer that question? Yuuri shakes his head. 

“Why not have our court musician play him the song, love?” Isabella waves her hand toward the shabby old tents. “Perhaps that will jog his memory.”

One of the guardsmen is still watching Yuuri out of the corner of his eye, even as he snags a chunk of food from the spit and gnaws at it. “Please,” Yuuri says. “I’m really just a foreign traveler passing through. If you’d just be so kind as to untie me, I can be out of here in minutes. It’s all just a big misunderstanding.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” JJ says, chuckling. “Now that you’ve seen our secret headquarters, we can’t just let you go. What if you decided to tell King Yakov where we are?” He lowers himself into an old chair near the fire. Parts of the arms and back look to be red velvet, but the fabric has long faded and one of the wooden legs seems ready to snap under his weight. “If you’re truly no spy, you’ll soon be welcome among my men, I’m sure.”

The men do not look welcoming. “You can’t just _keep me here_ ,” Yuuri says, gritting his teeth as he tries to remain polite. JJ cuts off his protests with a snap of his fingers.

“Bard, get out here,” he calls toward the tents. “Our new recruit wants to hear the Theme of King JJ!”

“Fuck off,” someone yells back from inside the tent. “No one ever wants to hear that stupid song except for you.” 

One of the men by the fire sniggers, and JJ whips around to look at them, making the chair totter precariously on its bad leg. Isabella flushes pink and stalks over to the tents, bending deeply to enter the smallest one. There’s a high-pitched yowl from inside the tent, and a loud thump, and then she marches back out. In one hand, she’s holding a guitar by the neck, and in the other, a blond youth dangles by the collar of his shirt.

The boy is scratching at her hand like an angry kitten, but she cooly drops him on the ground beside a tree, then carefully places the guitar across his lap. “Your king gave you an order,” she informs him, straightening her back and flicking hair back from her face. “Now play the song, or you’ll be back to begging for scraps outside the village butcher by nightfall.” 

The kid leans back against the tree and strums his fist across the strings, producing a loud, discordant jangle that leaves most of the people in the clearing wincing. 

“Yuri,” JJ sighs, and Yuuri sits up straighter, but JJ’s gaze is levelled at the youth with the guitar. Well, it’s a common name. “Just play the dang song.”

Yuri pulls a face - so much for respecting the king - but begins to trace his fingers across the strings, strumming true musical chords.

“ _Now I rule the world,_ ” he sings quietly. Yuuri finds himself tilting his head at the boy in surprise. He really has a lovely voice when he’s not cursing. “ _And the starry sky spreading above…_ ”

The sunlight glints off something to Yuuri’s left, and he glances into the woods. A white shape moves between the trees. He might mistake it for morning mist, save for the reflection of light sparking on golden feet. Yuuri’s heart lurches into his throat, and he quickly looks away, hoping no one else noticed his distraction. It seems like too much to hope for, that the unicorn came for him. He tugs at the ropes binding his arms, but there’s no give to the tight wrappings which chafe the delicate skin of his wrists.

He frowns to himself. Most of his spellwork requires some type of arm movement. He could snap his fingers and make fire, but he’d do more damage to his own body than the rope in this position. If only he could get his arms free, he could create some type of diversion, or lull the camp into sleep. He’s never woven an enchantment on so many targets, but what other option does he have? 

Yuri strikes a sour note, shaking Yuuri from his thoughts. The sharp sound is a hammer striking the anvil, and it sends up the delicate spark of an idea.

Yuuri clears his throat and bows to JJ, so low his hair nearly brushes through the dirt. “Excuse me, sire. I’m sorry to interrupt.” He waits for the boy to stop playing, then rises again. “I have a confession. I haven’t been completely truthful with you. I’m not just any ordinary traveler.” 

JJ leans forward in his chair as Yuuri pauses to gather himself. “I’m a travelling _dancer_ ,” he says. He looks at the ground; Yuuko always said he was a bad liar. “This song, it truly inspires me.” Someone snorts at that, but with his head down he can’t see who it was. “I’d very much like to perform something for you now, but…” He trails off before turning to the side to display his wrists, still bound behind his back.

“Of course,” JJ says, as he leaps to his feet, grabbing a knife from his belt. “Far be it from me to restrain a fellow artist.”

Isabella makes a strangled noise. “Darling,” she interjects. “I hate to say this, but the men could be right. Are you _sure_ it’s wise to-”

“Did you know I actually composed the song myself?” JJ continues as the ropes begin to part under his blade, ignoring his wife’s protestations. “It’s true. I wrote the lyrics and played it originally. Yuri does it passably well, though.” 

The final strands of the rope pull taught, then give way, and Yuuri is finally able to bring his arms forward, rubbing at the red lines maring his skin. “Thank you, sire,” he says, forcing a grateful smile as the other man returns to his seat. “I’m sure your version of the song is excellent.”

“Why don’t you prove it to him,” Yuri says. He levers himself to his feet and walks over, dumping the guitar in JJ’s lap. “If you think you’re so much better, play the stupid thing yourself, _sire_.” The boy stomps off, ducking back into his tent.

JJ shakes his head and pulls the guitar in tight against his chest. “Please excuse our young musician,” he says. “He can be moody, but he’s a good kid, really.” Over his shoulder, Isabella makes an un-ladylike gesture at the closed flap of the tent. 

JJ frowns down at the guitar as if confused by it at first. He runs his fingers along the strings softly, then clears his throat as he begins to play in earnest.

Yuuri’s immediate thought is that JJ’s bragging was not groundless. Though Yuri was good enough and certainly sang well, JJ is clearly a much more adept musician. His agile fingers trip across the strings, and what he lacks in vocal pitch, he makes up for with clear enthusiasm. In the background, the men around the fire murmur along with the words begrudgingly.

Yuuri moves his feet to first position, closes his eyes, and extends his arms. This is his moment. He reaches deep within himself, searching for a spell, a snippet, an image of a page: _anything_ that can get him free of this situation. 

He finds nothing. It’s as if his entire inner library has been set aflame in his absence, and now that he needs it, he’s sifting through cold ashes. His heart beats faster as fear wraps its clammy fingers around his throat. He opens his eyes, finds Isabella staring right at him with her arms folded, and snaps them closed again. He’s supposed to be dancing. He just needs to _dance_.

So Yuuri begins to move. There’s no thought or intention to the dance, just something to buy him time. At first he’s hesitant, staccato and off-beat, so he tries to focus. His attention catches on the lyrics. The words call out to him, mellifluous above the mutter of the men, the snap of the fire, or the oppressive weight of Isabella’s eyes on him. _This is who I am; just remember me_.

Yuuri pushes his concerns down and lets the music take him: pas de chat, plié, jeté; it’s been too long since he moved like this for no reason but the joy of movement, but it returns to him like slipping back into a favorite shirt. 

He becomes lost in the movement and the song. There are only the notes, and the breeze, and this quiet moment in the forest. If this was the only magic Yuuri ever had, this very human magic he makes with his own hands and feet, it might be enough for him. But it would not be enough to save a unicorn.

 _Please_ , Yuuri whispers to himself. _Please find a way. Find a way._

A sudden gust of wind flings Yuuri’s cloak out and wraps it around him tightly. He shoves it back and continues to dance. He can feel the sweat beading on his forehead, yet his skin begins to prickle with cold.

No, it’s not cold.

He opens his eyes. The wind buffets the trees, sending leaves plummeting to the ground like rain. The clearing is silent. The song is done, but Yuuri spins and leaps, hurtling again into the air as if expecting the wind to catch him. The magic in his veins is like lightning, fire, and ice. It chills his bones, but sets him aflame. Every hair on his body stands on end.

He dances for a year, or for a single beat of a hummingbird’s wing, and the power builds like a flood behind a dam, until he can’t possibly contain it anymore. He stops, one hand over his heart and the other out, reaching for something he can’t quite see between the trees.

Night is closing in. When did it get so dark? The blackness surrounds him, and Yuuri barely even feels it when his legs give out, and his body crumples to the ground.

-

The unicorn could sense the magic stirring from the moment Yuuri put his heels together. Even from here, he can feel it running over his skin in waves, a more delicate version of the tingling little shocks he feels at the touch of Yuuri’s hand. As the dance goes on, the magic eddies and swirls in the air around them, building to a towering wave.

When Yuuri falls, that wave of power slams into the clearing. Even the ordinary humans seem rattled. The woman shakes her head. One of the older men by the fire suddenly stumbles to his feet, confused. The forest is still as a grave in its wake.

In the distance, the unicorn can hear the sound of the sea.

No, not the sea - voices. It’s a sea of voices.

He hears the heavy bass of the drum next, then the lilting cry of a flute. The voices are louder now, though their words are indescifrable, and as the wind sweeps through the clearing, throwing leaves and dust into the air, they appear.

There are so many humans that the faces blur together above a rainbow of garments. They’re less individual people and more of a shifting, ghostly mass. The first of the bannermen, dressed gaily in violet and gold, steps right onto Yuuri’s prone form. His foot passes through harmlessly. 

After the bannermen come the musicians, and the unicorn recognizes the melody as the very same song Yuuri had been dancing to before. Next there is the procession itself, a cheering throng of humanity marching, many of them singing along softly to the music. The boy-king and his subjects in the clearing are all frozen where they stand, mouths agape as they watch the illusory multitude pass right through the center of their camp.

At the center of the crowd, carried high overhead, is a golden litter. The unicorn must crane his neck to make out it’s contents. Lounging high on a pile of velvet pillows, the boy-king himself rides in the litter alongside his bride, who smiles and waves to the folk beneath her with enthusiasm. 

The unicorn turns to see how the real thing reacts to this simulacrum, but finds neither of the royal couple is looking at the litter. Instead, the king’s eyes are focused on an older couple loping along in front of his doppelganger. 

As the group passes by, the king falls to his knees. “Mom,” he cries out. His voice breaks on the word. “Mom! Dad, that’s not me! I’m here. I’m right here! Don’t you see me?”

The parade does not stop. None of the ghosts can so much as bend an ear to acknowledge his pain. The people in the crowd continue to press forward, singing and laughing, and don’t so much as turn their heads in the direction of the man on the ground. They step through the fire unharmed, proceed out the other side of the clearing, and begin to fade amongst the trees. 

“Mom?” JJ calls out again as he scrambles to his feet. “No, please wait. I’m coming!” He begins to run after the illusion, graceful as a newborn calf. “Don’t leave me!”

As he gallops off into the trees, his followers pause for only a moment to look at one another, bewildered. Then, they’re in pursuit, sprinting into the woods while calling out for their leader.

The last notes of the melody are carried away on a gentle breeze, and the unicorn steps out into the clearing. 

Yuuri lies crumpled on the ground like a discarded bit of parchment, curled on his side and motionless but for where the last bit of wind lifts the hem of his cloak. The unicorn approaches and lowers his head, observing where the man’s dark lashes fan across the rise of his cheeks. His breath catches in his throat when the man doesn’t move. _So fragile,_ he thinks.

Yuuri’s eyelids twitch and flutter, and his eyes slowly open as he rolls onto his back, staring up at the unicorn. His glasses must have fallen when he did, and without them, he looks wide-eyed as a child. “What happened?” he murmurs. 

_Something incredible,_ the unicorn says. His voice is warmer than usual, a jumble of feelings crawling just below the surface. _What spell was that?_

Yuuri shakes his head as he props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I wasn’t attempting anything. I just wanted us both to be safe. I didn’t,” he pauses to lick his lips, and lowers his voice. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”

 _No. You did well. They’ve all fled, but they should be unharmed unless one of them twists an ankle running through the woods._ The unicorn hesitates, then leans down to gently nudge Yuuri’s cheek. The fizz and spark of their contact is still there, but muted, the fire dampened back to a smoulder.

Yuuri’s eyes widen as he feels the difference too. He reaches up, telegraphing the movement so the unicorn won’t be surprised, and loops his arm over the crest of his neck. The unicorn raises his head, and Yuuri staggers to his feet, leaning on the unicorn like a crutch. 

Once Yuuri finds his own footing, he takes his own weight and withdraws, only his fingertips lingering once more on the unicorn’s mane. “You stayed,” he says, through unsteady breaths and shaking hands. “I thought you would have left long ago.”

What does he say to that? The unicorn fills his lungs with the scents of the forest and breathes out honesty. _I found myself at a loss_ , he admits. _It is more comfortable, not traveling alone._

Yuuri’s smile is tremulous, but his tone is relieved. “I felt the same way. I thought I was coming after you.” 

They fall silent. In the wake of Yuuri’s enchantment, the birds are only tentatively beginning to sing again. _We should get moving,_ the unicorn says. _Eventually the illusion will break, and they will find their way back._

“Ah, you’re right,” Yuuri says. “Just give me a minute to gather my things.” He stalks over to where the horses are tied and begins searching. It doesn’t take long for him to locate his rucksack, still dangling from the pommel of one of the saddles. He unties it and gives the contents a quick check, but nothing appears to be missing.

Yuuri slings the bag over his shoulder once again and returns to where the unicorn waits. He parts his lips to speak and is just reaching out when there’s a furious rustle and snap of fabric. The flap of one of the tents is thrown back, and the blond youth, Yuri, emerges, his fists clenched tightly at his side.

He stops short as he catches sight of Yuuri and the unicorn, and the anger melts from his face. His eyes widen, and his hands flex and curl as if to reach out. He looks a child, lost and frightened in the dark woods. 

Then, his countenance darkens and his eyes narrow. He points a finger at them imperiously. “You. What are _you_ doing here? You think you can just show up now, after all this time?” His face begins to turn red, and his hand shakes. “You’re _too late_.”

Yuuri turns to the unicorn, who blinks back at him, doe-eyed and unassailable. _What did you do to him?_

“I don’t know,” Yuuri responds, his mouth hanging open. “I’ve never even spoken to him.”

“Not _you_ ,” Yuri says as he advances toward them. Yuuri backs away until the teenager is facing off with the unicorn, and without hesitation, jabs him in the cheek. “You! Are you going to pretend you don’t know who I am?”

The unicorn flinches from the touch and turns his head back toward Yuuri. _Could the magic have twisted his mind?_ he asks, but Yuuri shakes his head, equally bewildered.

“I’m not crazy!” The teenager stomps his foot. “You’re him! You have to be him, or why else would you be here?”

Yuuri’s expression lightens, and he raises both hands in an attempt to calm the boy. “I think perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding. Are you thinking of another unicorn?”

The boy’s hand falls back to his side and his brow furrows. “Dimitri?” he whispers, staring at the unicorn. 

The unicorn shakes out his mane. _No. I have never been called by this name._

“Do you know him?” the boy’s tone is demanding, but his voice quavers as he asks, “Can you tell me where he is?” 

The unicorn looks back to Yuuri, who shakes his head again, but steps forward. He rests his hand once more on the unicorn’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why you’re looking for this unicorn, this ‘Dimitri’, but we don’t know of him. In fact, we-” he stops, but the boy is still watching, waiting for an answer. “We’ve been told all the unicorns are gone, all but this one.”

Yuri looks away from them, but he can’t hide the hurt in his eyes. When he looks vulnerable like that, instinct screams at the unicorn to reach out, to protect the innocent. It’s disorienting how quickly Yuri evolves from a child to a fiend, his moods cycling quicker than breath. “Gone?” he asks. “All of them?”

Yuuri’s fingers begin to stroke through the unicorn’s mane, though he still seems focused on the boy. “As far as we know. We’re not without hope that they can still be found, but…” he trails off with an apologetic shrug.

The boy bites his lip, emotions flickering across his features so quick as to be inscrutable, and turns and marches back to his tent. Yuuri and the unicorn wait, unsure if the boy is coming back, until finally Yuuri tugs gently on the unicorn’s mane and adjusts the weight of his rucksack on his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he says. 

They turn and start back toward the road, the whole day still ahead of them. As they take their first steps out of the tree line, they both pause on the edge of the path, and the unicorn’s ears swivel at the snap of a twig behind them. He looks back, unsurprised to see Yuri slipping between the trees with a small bag slung across his body and a roll of blankets in his arms.

_What are you doing?_

“Following you,” Yuri snaps. “Obviously. Although if you’re going to ask stupid questions the whole time, I might keep my distance.” His eyes dart from the unicorn’s unreadable expression to Yuuri’s furrowed brow. “Don’t read anything into it. I just want to find that bastard Dimitri.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Yuuri asks, his tone pleading.

“What, like back in my leaky tent with JJ and his delusions?” the kid shrugs. “No, thanks. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of there. A unicorn is the best excuse I’m going to get.”

The unicorn nods his head and pulls away from Yuuri, continuing to the road. “Are you really just going to let him come along?” Yuuri asks, incredulous.

 _Do you have a way to stop him?_

Silence is the only response he gets as he continues to walk away. A moment later, he hears a huff of breath and the soft thump of boots on the packed dirt path. Slim fingers twine through his mane once more, tripping those delicate wires of sensation as Yuuri’s depleted magic slides up against his own. 

The road curves on ahead, and a few bright beams of sunlight break through the blanket of clouds, playing across the mountains and illuminating the tall stone spires of a distant castle. King Yakov awaits them, and so does the bull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come at me, bro](https://louciferish.tumblr.com/)


	6. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three adventurers enter Yakov's kingdom in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [imaginary_dragonling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_dragonling/pseuds/imaginary_dragonling) for the help and cheerleading.
> 
> Additional credit this chapter to the many individuals who tolerated my whining last week as I pushed through my doubts.
> 
> And as always tp [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for the unending support and encouragement.

_'Tis now the very witching time of night,_  
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out  
Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood  
And do such bitter business as the bitter day  
Would quake to look on. Soft, now to my mother.—  
O heart, lose not thy nature, let not ever  
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom.  
Let me be cruel, not unnatural.  
\-  Hamlet; Act III, scene ii, William Shakespeare

The delicate grass crunches beneath his feet as Yuuri trots back to the road. Dust, dust, everything seems to be dust. The dust from the road has stained his brilliant blue cloak to a dull grey, and now the dead grass disintegrates where he steps. It flies into the air to assault his nose and eyes, seeking vengeance.

Only the unicorn remains untarnished by the dirt, still gleaming and white. Yuuri follows the shining figure as he finds his way to the group.

“No luck,” he says, shaking his half-empty water flask at the others. The creek had seemed like a lucky find, even dry, considering how low their supply was getting. But Yuuri had traced its banks and scoured under stones for quite a while without seeing so much as a puddle for the birds to bathe in.

“I told you,” Yuri says, attempting to pry a rock loose from the road with the toe of his boot. “You’re wasting your time looking for water out here. There’s never been rain in Yakov’s land in my lifetime.”

Yuuri chooses not to comment on the length of Yuri’s lifetime. He’s not looking to start another fight. Admittedly, he’d thought Yuri was exaggerating before when he spoke about the drought, but the pitiful land around them only verifies Yuri’s position.

 _There will be more chances,_ the unicorn says. _We still have enough water for now, if we’re careful._

Yuri shakes his head. He finally frees the rock he was picking at and kicks it hard. It scuttles off down the road, leaving a cloud of dirt in its wake. “You should have packed more water skins,” Yuri says. “Or we could have stolen some from JJ.”

“I packed plenty of water for _me_ ,” Yuuri points out as he tucks the bottle back into his rucksack and starts walking. “It’s not our fault that you didn’t think to grab one for yourself when we left the camp.”

Yuuri’s bag feels dangerously light against his back. It’s a relief to have some pressure off his shoulders, but with an extra person along, even just for a day, they’re burning through the supplies he bought in town at a dangerous rate. 

He buries his fingers in the unicorn’s mane, clutching the silvery strands, but the bubbling rumble that spreads from his fingers to his chest does nothing to soothe his concerns. The unicorn looks at him sideways, as if he can read Yuuri’s mind. Yuuri turns away, gazing out at the scenery around them - what there is of it. 

Others had spoken of drought in the kingdom before, but Yuuri hadn’t understood the magnitude of the issue. The grass at the roadside is parched and ashy green at best. In the worst areas, there are whole fields of nothing but brown, cracked earth, marred by signs of old fires and many footsteps. Greyed wooden poles stick up sporadically from the ground along the road, showing where once there might have been crops planted or vineyards, all long dried up and vanished. 

In addition to the dry creek, they’ve so far stumbled across an empty pond and two long-dead wells. The farm houses which litter the route are abandoned and decaying, their thatched roofs collapsing in on what was once someone’s home. Yuuri doesn’t think the situation is desperate enough to go looting the houses, though he’s seen Yuri poking around a few of them. 

Something flutters in the road ahead of them, and Yuri jogs past to check it out. He’s still bent low, poking it with a stick, when Yuuri and the unicorn catch up. It’s a burlap rucksack, similar to Yuuri’s. The jagged tear along the bottom of the bag makes Yuuri’s stomach flip.

“Don’t,” he says when Yuri lifts the sack with his stick, waving it like a flag. 

“Why not?” Yuri waves the sack in his face. “It’s empty anyway.”

“It used to belong to someone,” Yuuri says, flinching back. It’s far from the first lost belonging they’ve found on the road so far. The worst ones were the toys: little straw dolls in sun-bleached dresses and cracked wooden tops dropped along the guttered paths in the road. 

The bag drops off the end of the stick, and Yuuri catches it, turning it to examine the rip. The fabric is discolored at the edges, splattered with dark brown spots. Yuuri drops the thing, watching it fall back to the ground. “All this from a drought?” 

“Not just a drought,” Yuri shrugs, and turns back to the road. He drags the stick through the dirt behind him, drawing a long line in the dust for Yuuri and the unicorn to follow. “It was the drought, but then there was disease too. Grandpa said that was when it got really rough. Bad enough when people were hungry and thirsty, and then with the sickness they got really desperate.”

“Grandpa sent me away when the sickness got bad,” Yuri admits. “I only ever knew the drought, though. I don’t remember ever seeing green grass or healthy crops, but Grandpa always claimed it was beautiful here.” He lifts the stick over head and hurls it like a javelin. It twists in the wind, then clatters to the ground ahead. “That was before the Bull, though.”

Yuuri turns in surprise to find the unicorn staring right back at him, ears at attention. “The Bull?”

Yuri makes a wordless noise of agreement, then adds, “Yeah. Yakov’s curse, the Dark Bull.”

“The Bull did all this?” Yuuri licks his lips, eyes tracing the dull brown outline of the landscape. First the unicorns, and now this destruction. What is this creature they’re chasing? 

“I guess,” Yuri shrugs. “I don't know. You’d have to ask someone who was here then, I guess. I only know what Grandpa told when I was a kid. The land was green and prosperous. King Yakov lived happily in the castle with his family and blah blah, like some old fairy story. But then there was something,” he waves his hand. “A curse. Maybe Yakov cursed the land because the Queen left him? Or maybe _Yakov_ was the curse. I forget.”

Yuuri runs a hand down his face. Of course. The best information they’ve gotten yet, and it’s second-hand bedtime stories from a child. “Then what happened?”

“I told you,” Yuri snaps, glaring back at him over his shoulder. “Then the Bull came, and the crops dried up, and then the disease started. People who could leave packed up and left, and the rest of us were stuck here.”

“‘Us’,” Yuuri repeats. “Is your family still here?”

Yuri doesn’t respond. They’ve caught up to where he threw the stick earlier, and he bends down to grab it once more, smacking the end into the ground and stirring up clouds of dust that sting at Yuuri’s eyes. 

Yuuri loses patience, snaps his fingers, and the end of the stick catches fire. With a gasp, Yuri drops it to the ground, kicking up more dirt to put the flame out. “What are you thinking? If you catch the wrong thing on fire out here, everything burns.”

Yuuri winces, and looks to the unicorn for help, but he only stares back with those blue eyes, like falling into the stars. Yuuri blinks, pulling himself back. ”If you still have people here, we can take you back to them,” he says. “Someone may be looking for you.”

“No one is looking for me,” Yuri says, stiffening. “No one but the dead, I’m not ready to go back to _them_ yet.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. “But we’re only trying to help. This is dangerous.” Again, he turns to the unicorn, pleading.

_It’s none of my concern. Yuri has chosen to travel with us. It is not our responsibility to tell him what to do._

Yuuri gapes at him.

“Thank you,” Yuri says, but the unicorn interrupts.

 _I don’t understand it,_ he says, tossing his head. _But many of your kind seem eager to chase their own death, as if it won’t come swift enough on its own._

It’s a cold thing to say, but Yuuri can almost hear Yuri’s jaw snap shut, silencing any further argument. Sometimes, cruel comments cut deep because they contain the truth.

The road drops off ahead of them, a slow climb descending into a steep hill. Below them lies yes another abandoned farm house, crumbling stacks of stone walls offering little protection against the harsh environment. 

Yuri stops short at the sight of it. Tendrils of smoke curl up from the chimney, the steel grey coiling dark among the white clouds. A vulture circles high overhead, and Yuuri tells himself it's only drawn to the smell of cooking from the house, but the thought does nothing to drive away the prickling of his skin or the heavy feeling in his gut.

“I can’t believe anyone still lives out here,” Yuri says. “I’m going to go see if they’ve got water.” He doesn’t so much as check back over his shoulder before he’s off, jogging down the hill toward the house.

“Wait,” Yuuri calls, but Yuri doesn’t falter in his course. He’s nearing the cottage door when the black, winged creature soaring above begins to drop down, descending in a slow, lazy spiral.

As the approaches the ground, it looms larger. Fully spread, its wings are already wider than any bird Yuuri has ever seen, and it’s still high above them. He can only watch as it folds its wings in tight, like a falcon sighting a rabbit, and begins to stoop.

Yuuri drops his rucksack in the road and _runs_. He has no idea what the thing is, but it’s coming for Yuri, and it’s coming down fast. Yuuri wills his legs to pump faster as he sprints down the hill. The creature is closing in. There’s no way Yuuri will reach him in time.

“Yuri!” he gasps, but he’s too out of breath to scream. With only a scant distance left to cover, he launches himself hard at the boy.

Yuuri catches him around the waist and they both tumble to the ground, rolling together in the dead grass. A gust of searing air sweeps across their tangled bodies, and Yuuri chokes the sickly-sweet smell of rot and musk. His eyes tear at the stench, and his knees and ribs are both aching from the impact. He rolls off of Yuri, onto his back, and levers himself up. 

The pink eyes of the harpy stare back at him from beneath a shock of stringy black hair. Her thin lips pull back in a yellow, sharp-toothed parody of a smile, and Yuuri recoils again at the odor of decay that emanates from that mouth. Yuuri scrambles back as the harpy raises one foot. Her talons gouge the earth where his feet had been.

Next to him, Yuri gasps, and Yuuri throws his arm across the boy’s body again, pulling him out of reach of the harpy’s claws. On the ground, she’s graceless. She’d be pitiful if she weren’t so terrifying. The harpy wobbles, freeing her foot from the dirt, then crouches to launch herself back into the air. Yuuri hides his face against Yuri’s shoulder, trying in vain to block the smell as her enormous wings buffet them with currents of grit and rot. 

As soon as Yuuri can stand against the wind, he does, hauling Yuri up along with him. The boy is wide-eyed, and his pale face is streaked with dirt on one side, bits of dried grass tangled in his hair. Yuuri pushes him toward the hill. “Run,” he urges. “Come on, _run_.” 

He grabs Yuri’s hand and starts sprinting himself. At first there’s a drag on his arm, and he thinks Yuri has frozen, but then he starts to catch up, stretching his legs to race along behind. Yuuri scans the horizon for a tree, a group of boulders, anything they can hide behind, but the land is featureless. From this direction, the steep hill will only force them to slow. They can’t afford to lose time.

Yuuri whips them around and sets off again, jerking Yuri along behind him. “What are you doing?” Yuri screams. Now they’re running right back at the harpy, and Yuuri can see her clearly, her dark wings stretched out in relief against the sun for an instant. 

She folds her wings, and begins to dive.

They’re so close to the cottage. Yuuri pushes himself and something in his chest gives, eeking out a last burst of energy. His body slams up against the wooden door. He fumbles for the door knob, twists, and _shoves_.

The door doesn’t even rattle. It’s latched tight. Yuuri pounds his fist against the wood, and feels Yuri’s fingers press hard at the backs of his arms. “Yuuri,” he says, voice cracking with fear. The cloying odor of ruin is back, and Yuuri turns, shoving the boy behind him and encasing Yuri between the cottage door and Yuuri’s own body.

A hot blast of air from the harpy’s wings hits them, and Yuuri braces himself for the impact, squeezing his eyes shut.

It never comes.

When he opens his eyes, the unicorn is there. He’s reared back on his hindquarters, the twisting horn on his forehead aimed dead at the harpy. His golden hooves catch the sun, and Yuuri is forced to shield his eyes, blinking away the glare.

The harpy is retreating, and Yuuri reaches out as the unicorn drops back to the ground. _She won’t give up so easily,_ he warns. _Be ready to run again, if you must._

“I’m not going to leave you behind,” Yuuri says, but the harpy is already swerving around, preparing to drop on them yet again. The unicorn’s attention shifts back to the sky.

It’s the first time Yuuri has watched her attack without turning away. He has nowhere to run. He can only cling to the door and his hope. The harpy folds her wings flat against her body and dives. She plummets faster than any falcon Yuuri has ever seen. It seems impossible he ever outran this. The unicorn dances back, shielding both the humans with his body much as Yuuri protects the boy behind him. The unicorn rises up again to meet the harpy’s stoop. Yuuri tries to watch, but he flinches away as the two immortals clash with a sound like a wave striking the cliffs.

When Yuuri looks back, the unicorn stands on all four feet once more, and the tip of his horn is stained aubergine black. The harpy’s blood twines its way down the spiral twist, only to vanish when it drips onto his moon white forehead.

The harpy circles overhead once more, then flaps off, dwindling until she appears to be nothing more than one more sparrow in the sky. _Off to lick her wounds,_ the unicorn says, looking back to check on Yuuri. _You’re unharmed?_

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He steps forward, then faces Yuri. The boy is pale and dirty, still pressed back against the door of the cottage like he’s trying to merge with the grain of the wood, but he looks unharmed.

_We should go. She will heal, and then she will return._

Yuuri nods. He places one hand on the unicorn’s withers and cups the other around Yuri’s elbow, urging him gently forward. At first, the boy stays frozen; then, blinking, he peels himself away from the door and follows them back to the road.

They pause only to reclaim their belongings from where the sacks were dropped in the scramble, then continue on to the road. As they pass the cottage one last time, Yuuri glances back. Grey smoke still billows up from the chimney, but from this angle he can see where part of the thatched roof has collapsed completely, like something heavy crashed into it from a great height.

He turns away and tries to push the image from his mind.

-

Yuuri peeks back at the road behind them again. 

_She’s not following us,_ the unicorn says. _It wouldn’t be in her interest._

“It’s not that,” Yuuri says. He didn’t realize it was so obvious, but he can’t stop checking on Yuri. The boy stuck close to Yuuri’s side when they first left the cottage, but he dropped back as they continued, lingering well behind. He’s walking with his arms folded across his chest, silent. Each time Yuuri checks, Yuri is looking away, constantly scanning the horizon. The sun is setting behind them now, and when Yuuri squints back again, he catches Yuri rubbing at his eyes.

Yuuri’s pretty exhausted himself. His legs and lower back started twinging not long after they left the harpy, and he’s bound to be stiff in the morning. He glances at the unicorn, but he shows no sign his energy might be flagging. Yuuri marks this as one of the many advantages of immortality.

“We should stop soon,” he says. “Before it gets too dark to find a safe place.”

The unicorn nods up ahead where a massive tree towers over the roadside. It may have once provided shelter and solace to many beneath its branches, but it's now a dry, twisted thing. A fire pit already dug at its base stands as a memorial to its many missing boughs.

Yuuri drops his rucksack at the base of the trunk. The lowest branches have already been scavenged by other travelers, but Yuuri finds a handhold and hoists himself up into the tree. By balancing on a split in the trunk, he can reach higher boughs to gather kindling.

He begins plucking sticks from above and drops them down to clatter against the withered roots. As he tosses down one dead branch, he catches Yuri pulling items from his rucksack. “Hey,” he says. “You know we need to ration the food! You can’t just help yourself.”

Yuri waves him off and pulls a tangled mass of brightly-colored ribbons from the bag. Yuuri had forgotten he even had those.

“Can I use these?” Yuri asks, staring up at him.

“I guess so.” Yuuri jumps down from the tree to rearrange the wood in the fire pit. “Do you need me to help you with your hair?”

“No. I was thinking maybe…” Yuri’s voice is subdued still, and he trails off. Yuuri snaps his fingers, then looks up from the fire to find Yuri peering at the unicorn from beneath his pale lashes. His wistful expression is completely exposed by the firelight as he picks at the knot of ribbons in his lap.

Without a word the unicorn steps over to Yuri and folds his knees, laying his head sideways across the boy’s lap. Yuri sucks in air through his teeth. His hands are hesitant at first as he cords his fingers through a section of mane, but then he grows more confident, sorting the strands into equal segments. He pulls out the first ribbon - blue, though it pales when held next to the unicorn’s eyes.

Yuuri turns his back on them to lay out his old cloak like a blanket, giving the pair a moment of privacy.

When he turns around, there are already three small, neat braids completed in shades of blue, pink, and rich violet. Yuuri grew up around girls, and he’s tried his own hand at braiding hair a few times, but Yuri’s handiwork is far better. “That looks beautiful,” he says, sitting cross-legged on his cloak to watch. “Where did you learn to do it?”

“My mama,” Yuri murmurs. His pale blond hair falls forward as he bends over the curve of white neck, intent on his task. He uses his fingernails to gently pick out a knot in the silvery mane, and the unicorn shivers. “Her hair was long, like a princess. When I was small, she always wore it down, but then later she had a hard time combing it herself, so I started to braid it for her, to keep it from tangling.” 

“That sounds nice,” Yuuri says. “I tried to braid a friend’s hair a few times, but she always said I pulled too hard.”

“Mama would always talk about doing this,” he nods down to the unicorn as he weaves a green ribbon into the next braid. “When she met Dimitri, she’d been walking out to the woods with her ribbons every day, hoping to meet a unicorn. She always talked about the way he came out from between the trees, shining,” a note of bitterness creeps into his voice. “I think it was the happiest day of her life.”

The fire pops, and Yuri jumps a little. Flickering firelight turns his spring green eyes to gold as he stares across the flame at Yuuri. “I always wanted to know what it was like,” he says.

“What is it like?” Yuuri asks.

 _Calming,_ the unicorn says, before Yuri can respond. _Restful._

“All that,” Yuri agrees, as he combs out a few more tangles. “But also thrilling? I never understood her.” His mouth twists into a scowl. “I think I still don’t. This is fine. It’s not worth dying over.” 

Yuuri stops picking at his cloak and stares at Yuri, who doesn’t look up from his work. “Dying?” The silence that follows his question is only broken by the crackling fire. “Yuri,” he presses again. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Yuri snaps. His fingers tighten on the hair in his hands, and the unicorn flinches. “I was just a kid. I don’t even understand it. When I was little, I thought it was all true, but,” he shakes his head. “Grandpa said she was crazy.”

“‘Your mama,’” he says, in a stilted tone. His accent is thick but unplaceable. “‘She was always different, Yura. We just didn’t know how sick she was.’ Some days she was fine, though. She was happy. She laughed and we played together. Even on the good days, she said the same things. Everyone else said she was lying.”

“Lying about what?” Yuuri asks. He tries to be gentle. Yuri is so young and volatile, but there’s a current in the air. It’s something beyond the breeze that ruffles the flames and scatters the sparks, and it’s pushing Yuuri to find out the truth.

“Lying about Dimitri,” Yuri says. His hands have stilled on the unicorn’s neck, and he crosses his arms, hugging them to his chest. “Lying about a unicorn becoming a man. Lying, when she said that he loved her, but he left. Grandpa would beg her not to talk about it, but she wouldn’t stop, not even when _I_ asked. She’d only say I shouldn’t be ashamed.”

“But it’s impossible,” Yuuri blurts out. He regrets it when Yuri’s head snaps up. He glares through the flames, baring his teeth in nothing like a smile. 

“My mama’s no liar,” Yuri snaps. He pushes himself up, face flushed with shame and anger, and the unicorn scrambles to move out of his way. The unused ribbons fall into the dirt as Yuri stalks off, out of reach of the light. 

Yuuri starts to go after him, but the unicorn interrupts. _Let him go,_ he says. _He’ll come back._

Yuuri stands alone for a moment. It seems he always finds some kind of mess to stick his foot in. 

He walks around the fire and bends to pick up the ribbons, shaking off the dirt. “He left it half done. I’m not as good at braiding, but would you like me to finish?”

_Please._

The unicorn waits for Yuuri to settle onto his cloak, back pressed against the trunk of the old tree, then lowers his head to Yuuri’s lap. “Tell me if I pull too hard,” Yuuri whispers as he combs his fingers through the soft silver strands.

-

The unicorn wakes some time later to the sound of quiet cursing. When he opens his eyes, his head is still pillowed on Yuuri’s lap. The magician is leaning back against the tree, and his head lolls to one side as he breathes deeply in sleep.

Across the last smoldering embers of the fire, Yuri is curled on his side, muttering to himself as he struggles to wrap himself in his cloak. He looks uncomfortable, but otherwise unharmed.

The night deepens around them, darkness swallowing the land until the unicorn can barely see the shadow of the boy beyond the remains of the fire. Overhead, a dark cloud creeps across the sky, extinguishing the watery moonlight. The unicorn shivers, and Yuuri stirs in his sleep, whimpering.


	7. The Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations and transformations as the long road narrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Housekeeping! I've cleaned up the tags on this, removing characters who did not appear much and adding some content tags. Some of the new content tags may contain spoilers for anyone who is unfamiliar with the original novel/film version of _The Last Unicorn_.
> 
> I completed a very thorough outline of the rest of the story, and I've also updated the chapter count as a result. I'm expecting a final tally of _fourteen_ chapters, rather than twelve, and an epilogue. 
> 
> Eternal gratitude, as ever, to [Morgen](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/) for support, encouragement, random pictures of unicorns and silver-haired girls, and also art.

_Now mix me a color that nobody knows,_  
And paint me a country where nobody goes.  
And put in it people a little like you,  
Watching a unicorn drinking the dew.  
\- “The Paint Box”, E. V. Rieu

The unicorn dreams in lightning flashes of memory. He sees his forest, an aging fox, two unicorns frolicking in a meadow, the harpy, Yuuri, the cage. He sees faces, familiar but nameless; they flicker before him like shadows fading beneath the blinding sun.

When he wakes, disquiet coils in his bones. Light sketches gold across the horizon, setting the mountains ablaze. Yakov’s castle is visible from here, crouched among the peaks like a wart. It’s quiet. The drought and blight has driven most of the wildlife from this land, and there are no birds nested in the gnarled trees, eager to greet the morning.

Yuuri must have moved in the night because the unicorn is still lying beneath the tree, but the magician has pulled his cloak closer to the dead fire, and to Yuri. Both of them are still asleep, though Yuri’s brow is furrowed even at rest. 

As the unicorn turns to Yuuri, he is caught by the bright flash of the ribbons in his own hair. It had been soothing to get attention like that once more after so long on his own. The faces from his dreams dance before him again, and he shivers. Many people had called to him through the years, or sang for him in languages no longer spoken. The braiding of ribbons or flowers was a tradition older than the unicorn himself, and while he had enjoyed the practice, it had never carried much import. It was how things were done and nothing more. When they came to him, he accepted the gesture as his due.

The experience of the night before had felt different somehow. Maybe it’s because he knows these humans, though he’s still learning little Yuri, or perhaps spending so many years without made him appreciate the sensations more. In the past, some of the men and women who came to him were not strangers. Many sang to him for blessings on their wedding, or wanted just a glimpse before they fled, giggling, into the bush, but certain ones ventured into his wood time and again. They learned his favorite songs and where to pick the freshest flowers, and they brought him choice pluckings from their own orchards and fields.

Their faces still haunt him, but their names are long vanished if he ever knew them at all. A boy comes to him one day, his cheeks downy and his hair all dark and curled. The unicorn lays in his lap and listens to the music of his voice, not the words. The same boy comes back again. His beard is coarse and streaked with silver, and the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles. To the unicorn, the time between these days was the beat of a butterfly wing. In another beat, the boy is gone forever.

Yuuri is staring at him. The unicorn hadn’t even noticed he was awake. He hadn’t stirred an inch, only opened his eyes, and now he’s fixed on the unicorn across the corpse of the fire. He glances over at the spot where Yuri still lies motionless, then turns back.

“Good morning,” he whispers. He fumbles in the dirt for his spectacles and puts them on, then brushes unruly black hair back from his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you asleep since,” he waves a hand. “You know, Lilia.”

It is. Sleep has eluded him for some time, but last night had been soothing as he relived the old traditions in this new setting. He doesn’t remember trying to sleep, only the feeling of hesitant fingers picking through his mane and the whisper of silk on his skin.

“You barely even stirred when I moved over here,” Yuuri says.

_Well, that’s disconcerting._

Yuuri laughs quietly. His dark eyes dart up to check that he didn’t wake Yuri, but the boy doesn’t twitch. When he turns back to the unicorn, his smile is softer, lingering. “Thank you for letting me come,” he whispers. “Even though I almost got killed more than once. I’m glad to be here.”

The unicorn chooses to keep his thoughts on that to himself. Once the silence has settled around them, Yuuri gets up from his makeshift bed and begins to pack up their camp.

As Yuuri putters around, putting away his things and digging out meager food rations for himself and Yuri, the unicorn remains still and watchful. Speaking with Yuuri has shaken him out of his own head, but only somewhat. Phantoms still linger in the corners of his eyes.

Yuri wakes at the sound of Yuuri turning the coals in the fire and rolls over to find half a ration laid out on a scrap of cloth nearby. He takes it without even a word of thanks and breaks his fast in silence. 

Once everything has made its way back into Yuuri’s rucksack, the magician leads them back to the road, and the unicorn rises to follow. 

“We’re not too far now, are we?” Yuuri asks. “It can’t be more than a couple days from here to the castle.”

_No,_ the unicorn says. _Not far at all._ Even in the soft morning sun, Yakov’s castle is a dark spot on the horizon. 

“Oh, look!” Yuuri points up at the sky, bouncing on his toes. A bird wheels overhead, flapping its wings to catch an updraft. Its cry is harsh and loud. Although the wings above are white, not black, the unicorn sees Yuri hesitate for a moment, stepping back.

Yuuri notices too. “It’s only a sea bird,” he says. “We had them at home. I haven’t seen one in a long time.”

“Of course it’s a sea bird,” Yuri snaps. “Yakov’s castle is by the sea.” Yuuri looks back him, eyebrows raised to his hairline. “You came all the way here, and you seriously don’t know that?”

The bickering is better than the sullen silence Yuri had projected this morning. The unicorn tunes out the words and slows his steps, falling back behind the humans.

They _have_ come a long way, haven’t they? From his wood, the journey east has taken so long that the unicorn has long count of the days. There were times before Yuuri, and then many more days since they left the caravan, and the edges blur and overlap. How long has he been walking this unending road? Has any unicorn ever left their forest for so long by their own choice?

Ahead, the path winds through a copse of trees all as bare and gnarled as the one they slept beneath. The unicorn stares up at the twisted branches. No chipmunks run out on the limbs for a closer look at the travelers. No birds chirp in greeting or sound their alarm. When (if) the unicorn returns home, is this what he will find? The enchantments broken, and the wildlife fled. Will the old vixen in the hedge slink from her den to bow her head in welcome as he returns? Or will she be gone, her bones dissolving into dust in the underground chambers of her home?

The sky seems to darken around them as the trees close in, and the unicorn focuses on the brightness of the humans to light his path: Yuri’s straw-gold hair, the white sleeves of Yuuri’s shirt, and the deep blue of his sweeping cloak. Yuuri turns to say something to the boy, and the unicorn can see his pulse thrumming under the pale skin of his throat, like a moth beating its wings, frantic to escape.

If the unicorn were to lie down beneath these trees, if he closed his eyes for the time it takes a caterpillar to emerge from the cocoon, would he wake to find these faces gone from the world as well? How long would it take, he wonders, before he forgot them too?

A deep rumbling rolls through the trees, shaking the last stubborn brown leaves loose from their moorings. Yuuri turns back in alarm, wide brown eyes seeking the unicorn in the gathering dark. “Thunder?” he asks.

But even as the word is leaving his lips, they know it cannot be, not in the midst of a decades-long drought. Yuri looks up to the sky and pales. A cloud roils above the treetops unlike anything the unicorn has ever seen, darker than the night, so black as to be an absence of light. It seems to settle all around them, enveloping the land, until the unicorn can see only the ground beneath his hooves. 

He can hear Yuuri cry out for him in the gathering darkness and lunges forward, pushing through the cloud until his eyes can trace the barest outline of a figure ahead. _Yuuri?_

Two milk-white orbs float before him in the darkness. The unicorn steps toward them and trods on the hem of Yuuri’s cloak. Yuuri jumps, then reaches back as he recognizes the unicorn, sliding his hand to its usual spot in his mane. 

“What is this?” he whispers.

The orbs blink out. The black cloud fades to a deep stone grey. In the depths of the writhing darkness, the unicorn sees the outline of a wide, flat nose, then the edge of a curved horn.

Did the clouds retreat, or did they become the bull? The unicorn cannot tell the difference, if there is any. Whatever he had imagined, it was not this beast. The bull is as wide as it is tall, looming over both Yuuri and the unicorn. He snorts, and the scorching blast of breath from his nostrils stirs the unicorn’s forelock even from lengths away. His hide is obsidian tinged with a blue dark as the ocean depths, and his short, curling horns have tips like icicles.

The bull’s white eyes are wide and sightless, but he stares unerringly at the unicorn and snuffles in a few quick breaths. His fat, wet tongue slips from his mouth, tasting the air. His bellow is the clarion call of a hunter. 

At the sound, Yuuri’s hand clenches against the arch of his neck, and the unicorn’s heart leaps. He sees his own death watching him, and, coward, he runs.

There’s a sharp starburst of pain as he wrenches free of Yuuri’s hold, leaving a few silver hairs dangling from his fist. Tail held like a flag, he flees between the trees, hoping only that his agile steps can outrun the bulk of the beast, knowing it will follow. _To the edge of the world,_ Chris had whispered.

He dodges through the skeleton forest, leaping nimble over the thick grey-brown roots that bulge along the ground. He doesn’t look ahead or behind, only down, down, focused on always moving, fast as he can, far as he can.

Yuuri’s cry is fading, distant, and then he hears the rumble of the bull’s hooves striking earth and the shrieking crash as the first tree makes its last stand. After that, the scream becomes a chorus, louder by the minute. The unicorn twists and leaps, focused on the next obstacle and the pounding of the great hooves behind him as the bull plows through, undeterred. 

He breaks through the last line of trees, and his heart seizes. Ahead there is nothing but open, dry field, and to his right, a steep, craggy foothill. He skids to a stop, his hooves leaving furrows in the dirt. In the field, unencumbered by even the minor hindrance of the trees, the bull will surely catch him. Up the hill, he’s unlikely to fare much better, and even a unicorn can twist an ankle and go down if he steps wrong among the rocks. 

With a final crescendo, the bull burst through the trees, and there’s no more time left to choose. He bellows, wheeling around to face the unicorn and stops, pawing deep trenches into the ground. Without the cover of the forest, the unicorn can see the blood red marbling of the monster’s horns. The bull tosses his huge head, inhales, and presses toward him.

Its step is slow now, methodical as it circles, sizing him up. The only sound is the heavy breath of the bull and the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. There’s an incoherent shout from the trees, a swish of undergrowth, and then a second voice, louder and higher than the first. 

The bull turns his sightless eyes back to the treeline, scenting the breeze as if just noticing the humans in pursuit. He takes one plodding step toward the woods.

The unicorn sees the unguarded flank of the bull laid out before him as the creature shifts focus. He seizes the opportunity, lowers his horn, and charges.

Before his horn can pierce the bull’s side, it wheels to face him again, and the unicorn freezes. The bull steps toward him, and he retreats, dancing back until his hooves are scrambling for purchase on the hill, each step sending little showers of gravel skittering down the steep surface. 

At the treeline, Yuri clutches at Yuuri’s arm as they look on with wide eyes. “Do something,” the boy hisses, shaking Yuuri hard. “That thing has him trapped.”

“What do you want me to do?” Yuuri is pale. His heart feels fit to explode as he watches the dark bull circling the unicorn. He’s torn apart as his instinct screams _flee_ and his mind pushes back. This is his moment. The unicorn needs him. He stands unmoving.

“You’re a magician, aren’t you?” Yuri demands, shoving him harder, as if he can shake a solution loose. “Do something magic!”

Yuuri closes his eyes, trying to focus. He can still hear the skip of rocks down the face of the hill displaced by the unicorn’s hooves as he withdraws. What had he done at the camp, when he created that illusion and distracted his captors?

Nothing. 

He had been dancing, that was all. He had lost himself in the song, and the rest had followed.

Here there is no music, only the scrape of delicate hooves on gravel and the deep low of the bull. Yuuri tries to move. He digs through the archives of his mind, rummaging for a spell to concentrate on: concealment, fast travel, something that will get the unicorn away from the bull or make his presence less enticing.

His parody of a dance is halting, limbs jerking as he fumbles through the motions of conjuring. His internal search comes up with nothing, and all he can think of is Yuri’s plea, ringing in his ears. _Do something,_ he whispers to himself. He reaches inside and feels the connection that branches from his heart to his feet and then down, down into the swirling stardust core of the land. _Do something. Do something. Do something._

The magic swells inside him. It’s formless, aimless, and he has no idea how to mold and shape this power now that it’s surging into his grasp. For lack of a better option, he pulls what he can from the earth and everything he can from himself. He stands _en pointe_ , one leg bent, and thrusts everything he has at the bull and the unicorn, his only instruction the desperate echo of _do something_.

As the power flows through his body and out, it feels as though it’s taking Yuuri with it: his blood, his muscle, his spirit are all draining out through his fingertips unbidden. The moment the last of the magic drains from him, Yuuri falls to the ground, landing with a jolt to his bones. He catches himself on his hands before his head can hit, raising shallow welts on his palms. He doesn’t even feel the sting of pain as he pants against the fabric of his sleeve, clawing at consciousness. He peers up at the scene through the curtain of his hair, darkness creeping at the edges of his vision.

A thick yellow mist begins to swirl and eddy around the bull and the unicorn. The bull raises his head and twists side to side, sniffing at the strange magical cloud as it descends, blanketing both of them and obscuring Yuuri’s view.

The unicorn breathes in the acrid, electric scent of magic. It settles in rippling currents across his skin, then sinks into his flesh. He lets out a single high-pitched cry as his bones begin to twist and buck. _Yuuri!_

Then he drops to the ground, insensate. 

There is only silence in the wake of his cry. The visible swirl of Yuuri’s magic begins to fade, dissipating into the air and the soil from whence it came. In its wake, the bull stands, trembling but unbowed. The humans can see nothing beyond the bulk of the creature. He lowers his head, snuffling at a crumpled white form, and Yuuri gasps, hands flying to his mouth as he sits back on his heels.

“What is it?” Yuri asks, standing on tiptoes as he cranes his neck to try to see around the bull. “What have you done?”

The bull backs down the hill toward them slowly, and Yuri surges forward, but Yuuri reaches out, catching him by the sleeve. They wait, frozen together, as the bull turns toward them one final time, white eyes rolling in every direction. He inhales deeply, but stares past them, uninterested in the humans. The dark bull plods back the way he came, disappearing into the shadows and mist among the dead trees.

Once the tip of the bull’s tail is no longer visible, the last of the clouds roll back as abruptly as they arrived. Yuri pulls his cuff from Yuuri’s grasp and takes off, scrambling on all fours to get up the hill and see what happened for himself. 

Yuuri winces as he climbs to his feet. Even his face aches, and he has to take careful, slow steps to the base of the hill. It feels as if he’s balancing on a raft, his body swaying with each movement. His mind is wrapped in cotton as his legs tremble with fatigue.

He stops to rest at the base of the hill, steadying himself against a boulder, and looks up to check on Yuri. The boy bends over something unseen. His pale gold hair falls forward, concealing his expression, but his hand is shaking as it hovers over the form below.

Yuri shoves his hair back behind his ears. When he glares up at Yuuri, his green eyes are rimmed with red. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” he spits through a mouth twisted by anger.

Yuuri’s heart plummets into his boots. Oh, no. He gropes around for purchase and finds a sturdy bit of branch. It’s too short for a comfortable walking stick, but he can borrow a bit of steadiness from it if he hunches over. With the stick for balance, he hauls himself up the hill to Yuri. 

The thing he most fears seeing is a corpse. Maybe the magic did nothing, or his effort came too late. He’s never done anything like this before. At Lilia’s, there had been books, diagrams, detailed instructions, and _still_ Yuuri had made mistakes. Magic is delicate and wild as the unicorn, and, if mishandled, it tends to turn back on the wielder.

He finally pulls himself the last few steps, his feet scrambling for purchase in the loose gravel of the hillside. A body-length from Yuri, he stops short. He has no idea what he expected to see, or even what he hoped except for the unicorn to live, but what he finds is nothing he ever imagined, at least not in his waking hours.

A waterfall of silver-white hair half covers the pale, smooth skin of the man who lays curled at Yuri’s feet, unconscious and unabashedly nude. Yuuri would never believe it could be the unicorn, wouldn’t have recognized him as such at all, if not for the mass of familiar bright silk ribbons twisted through that mane of hair. The man’s eyelashes are a sweep of silver brushing his high cheekbones, and set high on his forehead is a purplish starburst shape which could almost be mistaken for a birthmark.

Yuuri throws his stick aside and drops to his knees. He reaches out to touch the mark, but stops short, his fingertips hovering just out of reach.

He meets Yuri’s eyes, glossy and pink with with tears yet unshed. “How could you do this to him?” he demands, the words sharp as a bite. “You told me it wasn’t _possible_.”

“The magic-,” Yuuri starts, then cuts himself off, stumbling to explain. “I had no intent-.” He pauses for a breath, measuring his words. “I only wanted to do something that would make the bull lose interest in him.”

“You’re telling me this happened by _accident_?” Yuri’s hands clench into fists against his thighs. “And he came out looking like this?” He jabs an accusing finger at the delicate silver lashes and the graceful curve of the man’s nose. 

Yuuri feels his cheeks begin to heat. He stammers, trying to figure out what to say to that accusation.

He’s saved from replying by a low moan from the man lying between them. His lashes flutter as he begins to stir. He opens his eyes. If Yuuri had any doubt that the man lying before him was his unicorn, the eyes would banish them. Despite the other changes, his eyes are the same fathomless blue eyes of a creature who has lived to see empires fall and stars extinguish. 

“Yuuri?” He whispers, his brow furrowing in confusion as he turns to stare up at the two hovering over him. “What happened? I feel strange.” He reaches up, as if to touch his own face, and stops midway, staring at his hand. A purple spider web of veins runs beneath his near translucent skin, and his long fingers are tipped in blunt, opaque nails with a delicate sheen of gold. He twists and bends the hand in front of his face, fascinated. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri blurts out. “I didn’t mean to. I only wanted you to be safe!”

The unicorn puts his hand down, trying to push himself upright, and Yuri and Yuuri both reach out at once to help him up. Their hands brush where they rest on his upper arms, all three of them connected. When he sits up the fall of his hair does little to conceal his nudity, and Yuuri, flushing bright red, drops his hands and looks away.

“Change him back,” Yuri demands. “You can’t leave him like this. Change him back!”

“I don’t know how,” Yuuri says, still studying the ground. He focuses in on a single black ant as it crawls among the rocks, not even stirring the dirt around it. “I don’t even know how I did this to begin with. What if I can’t? What if I make it worse?”

“Is this what it feels like to be human?” the unicorn interrupts, and Yuuri can’t help but look back now. He’s standing, unsteady on his two feet and leaning heavily on Yuri. He shifts on his feet, wincing, and raises a hand to his chest. “It hurts,” he says. “And it’s cold, and there’s something wrong with my heart.”

“You’re cold because you’re not wearing any clothes,” Yuuri says, averting his eyes before they can betray him. “And your feet hurt because you’re standing on rocks with no shoes. Here.” He unclasps his new cloak and steps forward to drape it over the unicorn’s shoulders, tugging the edges together under his chin. His breath puffs against Yuuri’s forehead as he moves closer, ruffling his hair.

Yuuri steps back quickly and begins tugging off his boots. 

“What about my heart?” the unicorn asks softly. 

“What’s wrong with your heart?” Yuri asks, as he takes over fastening the cloak and pulls the long moonlight-hued hair out from beneath the deep blue cloth.

“It feels…” he squeezes his eyes closed, focusing. “It feels like it’s beating too fast.”

-

After their experience, none of them is eager to linger near the hill or the trees, lest the bull return, so they’re forced to move on. Yuuri, still exhausted, leans on his stick and half-slides down the hill as they leave, wincing as the sharp stones dig into his bare feet. The unicorn has his lips pursed and walks with a stilted, high-stepping gait in his borrowed boots. He’s a good bit taller than Yuuri, and its likely that the boots are pinching his toes, made worse for someone wholly unused to shoes at all. Yuri swiftly loses patience with their slow pace and strides ahead to scout for a nearby campsite. 

The road turns into little better than a deer path as it winds up into the lower foothills of the mountain range, and the trees thin out in favor of what stubborn shrubs and thin grasses can cling to the rocks with little water or shade. They make a short climb to a small stone outcropping and give up on going further.

Yuri huffs as he watches the other two collapse back to the ground. “I guess I’ll gather the wood then.” He pauses as a thought strikes him. “Great, and now we have _three_ people to feed on your rations.”

Yuuri doesn’t even have the strength to look up anymore, resting his forehead on his folded knees. “There should be some type of settlement near the castle, shouldn’t there?” He murmurs against the fabric of his pants. “If there is, we can stop on the way.” He doesn’t offer an alternative, but he knows if it comes down to living off crumbs for a day or two, then the others will have to come first. Once he’s rested, he can make it.

The sound of Yuri’s grumbling and cursing recedes, and Yuuri can feel his eyelids growing heavy. He fades into the darkness on the back of his eyelids until he’s startled awake by the clatter of kindling as it lands in a heap on the rock. 

He shakes his head to clear the blanket of sleep and takes a look around. The sun is still high and bright in the plains to the west. The unicorn is folded in on himself by the sad little pile of sticks, Yuuri’s blue cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, and Yuuri’s boots lie crumpled and scattered on a couple nearby boulders, already discarded.

Kneeling, Yuuri hovers over the firewood that Yuri gathered and snaps his fingers.

Nothing.

Not even a spark.

“Are you kidding me?” Yuri growls, kicking a stone. It flies through the air and then skips down the hill below them. “Well, we won’t have to worry about food once we freeze to death.”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Yuuri snaps, his patience hanging by a thread. Yuri’s been surly with him since the night before, and maybe Yuuri should apologize for something here, but at the moment he’s too tired to worry about it. “I know how to make a fire the old-fashioned way, too, but you’ll need to find some bigger logs or it’ll burn out quickly.” 

Yuri sighs and stomps off down the hill, back toward the forest, while Yuuri gathers a few twigs and bits of dried grass. He hasn’t made a fire without the aid of magic in a few years, but silently thanks his parents for ensuring he had plenty of practice with it as a kid.

It only takes a few minutes before the grass catches, and Yuuri builds a little stack of the smallest twigs over that first spark, angling his body to block the wind and nurture the flame. He can’t help but smile, proud that he can still be useful even if his magic is worn to a nub. He looks up to find the unicorn watching him intently, and his heart sinks again. Those infinite eyes seem trapped in the confines of a human face, even an extraordinary one. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri says. “Yuri was right. I shouldn’t have done this to you. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change it. I’ve done you harm, and now I can’t undo it.”

“You will,” the unicorn murmurs. He turns, focusing on the little flame as it flickers and builds. “For now, it is not the worst thing that could happen. I know you only wanted to protect me, and I-,” he pauses, frowning. “I wasn’t ready for him.”

“You will be,” Yuuri echoes. 

The unicorn’s smile is hesitant, just a twitch at the corners of his lips, like he’s not sure how yet, or not sure he wants to. “I told you there was great magic inside you, didn’t I? Do you believe me yet?” Whatever else he may have said, whatever he wanted to hear from Yuuri, is cut off by a violent shiver. He tugs at the edges of the cloak again, trying to pull it closer.

“Hang on,” Yuuri says. “Yuri should be back with more firewood soon. I think I have some spare clothes in my bag, too.” He stands up to grab his rucksack from the rocks, rummaging through until he finds his other trousers. They’re old, and they likely won’t fit any better than the boots did, but they’re functional. Yuuri turns and holds them up for inspection, patches and weird stains and all.

The unicorn looks at the pants like they might jump down and bite him at any moment. “Nevermind,” he deadpans. “Change me back.” 

Yuuri snorts and tosses the pants to him. The unicorn doesn’t even attempt to catch, and they fall to the ground beside him in a crumpled heap. Yuuri turns his back and busies himself by locating the last couple ration bars at the bottom of his bag. He can hear the unicorn stumbling around as he tries to figure out the pants situation, and just prays he won’t fall into the fire. Yuuri should probably be offering to help, but he’d rather not. Had Yuuri somehow shaped the unicorn’s human form unintentionally? Maybe this was the magic, cursing him for playing with nature.

He waits until the shuffling noises stop, then peeks back carefully. The unicorn is seated once more and seems to have succeeded in putting on pants, though the laces hang open at the front. Well, it’s better than no pants at all.

Relieved, Yuuri sits back down beside him, feeding the fire slowly to maintain the flame while they waits for Yuri. In his periphery, he can see the unicorn bent over his own feet, touching the toes one by one like a child learning to count. 

He notices Yuuri staring and huffs. “Human bodies are strange, aren’t they?” He wiggles his fingers. “So many extra parts.” 

Yuuri is saved from responding to that by a faint grunt as Yuri ascends the ridge of the hill, his arms loaded down with firewood. He drops it on the ledge next to them with a clatter. “Is this enough?”

“It should be,” Yuuri says, reaching out to roll a log into the fire. “Thank you.”

Yuri shrugs and drops onto the rock across from him. “So how long until you can change him back?”

Yuuri looks up at the unicorn, but he’s still occupied with examining the unfamiliar parts of his new form. 

“I’m not sure,” Yuuri admits. “But I’ve been thinking; it might not be terrible if he’s stuck this way for a bit.” He can see Yuri already warming up to challenge him, so he talks faster. “Just a few days! Like this, we can _walk_ into the castle and seek an audience with the king. With a unicorn in our group, that was never an option.”

Yuri sits, silent but scowling, then lies down, turning his back on both them and the fire as he wraps his cloak tightly around himself. “I still think it’s a bad idea,” he mutters.

Yuuri grabs his rucksack and pauses, realizing he has a problem. Normally, he uses his old cloak as ground cover, then blankets himself with the blue one, but the unicorn is now wearing the blue one and little else. The rock is already cooling as the sun fades, and it’s only going to get colder. 

He could offer to share, to keep each other warm. It’s what he would do with a friend, and the night before he’d slept with the unicorn, his slim head pillowed on Yuuri’s lap. But now Yuuri can’t imagine crossing that line, lying so near to this creature who is not his unicorn, and yet still is. The unicorn tucks a strand of hair behind his ear without hesitation, then pulls his bent knees even closer to his chest, hugging his legs tight.

Yuuri stands and unfastens the clasp on his cloak. After sweeping it off his shoulders, he holds it out to the unicorn, who watches with a puzzled expression. “You should take it,” Yuuri says. “If you put it on the ground, you’ll stay warmer than if you lie on the bare rock.”

The unicorn holds out his slim-fingered hands, accepting the offer, and Yuuri quickly scoots away, putting his back against a rock closer to the fire, and watches as the unicorn lays out the cloak to sleep on. 

Within minutes of lying down, the unicorn appears to be asleep, that tangle of silver locks and silk ribbon falling half across his face as he breathes deep. Yuuri looks at the other cocoon by the fire and finds Yuri staring back at him, his eyes glinting gold in the reflected light of the fire.

“You better know what you’re doing,” the boy says, then rolls over once again.

Yuuri shivers in the chilled mountain air. He watches as the stars slowly wink to life above them, and the near-full moon soars overhead to light their camp, spilling a watery glow across the features of both sleepers. If Yuuri knows one thing about the journey ahead of him by night’s end, it is this: he has no idea what he’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bother me [on Tumblr](http://louciferish.tumblr.com/), where I've also posted this update along with a fancy new banner with a preview of more Morgen art.


	8. The Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travelers approach the castle and the village before it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Morgen: for support, encouragement, cheerleading, and always the most incredible, world-shaking art.
> 
> And Rakel, who keeps reminding me she's behind on reading and therefore won't see this for a while. ;)

_She was naked, and her skin was the color of snow by moonlight. Fine tangled hair, white as a waterfall, came down almost to the small of her back. Her face was hidden in her arms._  
\-  The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

Yuuri’s grateful for once to be far from civilization as he cleans up camp in the morning. Without a mirror around to shame him, he has no idea how he looks after a long night spent shivering, bare against the rocks. Yuri, perched on one of the boulders as he carefully pulls the silk ribbons from the unicorn’s long hair, has been shooting Yuuri strange, dark looks all morning. The fatigue must show through on his face.

Although his eyes feel crusted and heavy from lack of sleep, the physical exhaustion of yesterday has abated somewhat. He squashes an impulse to let his feet drag as they leave their camp and forces himself to keep up with the others.

They must look odd as they walk together up the winding mountain path. Yuri has the lead again, his face pinched and focused on the road ahead. Behind him is what appears to be an ethereal man with skin like milk and hair the color of a winter moon, stepping like a dancing horse in too-small boots and breeches that stop mid-calf. And then there’s Yuuri, shambling at the rear and resembling a reanimated corpse more than a human.

The way up the mountain is steep and treacherous. At times, it narrows to a shelf barely wide enough for them each to pass single file. Each cliff they pass seizes Yuuri’s attention, and he nangs back to watch, holding his breath as the unicorn edges along the slip of road ahead. It’s a risk more for him than the humans. He’s accustomed to having a unicorn’s grace, a unicorn’s feet, a unicorn’s immortality, and Yuuri is more fearful of a fall from the unicorn than a slip of his own foot. However, luck and grace, or perhaps fate, is on their side, and the unicorn keeps his new form under control.

Yuri rounds the mountainside first and pauses, staring down from an overlook into the valley beneath them. Yuuri quickens his pace, hurrying to see what made the boy stop. The curl of deep grey clouds below makes his gasping breath stop short. His stomach clenches, remembering dark clouds, the death of the light in the forest, and the pounding steps of the dark bull.

Yuuri pushes his eyeglasses further up his nose and lets out the breath he was holding in a whoosh of air. The dark cloud below is no herald of the bull, but the familiar wisp of smoke rising up from a chimney. A small village lies nestled in the valley, shadowed by the mountain and a blanket of mist. It’s too distant for Yuuri to make out much activity, but the smoke rising from a few hearth fires signals that it’s not abandoned yet.

When he looks to the others, Yuri catches his eye and nods off in the distance. On the other side of the village, high on the mountain across from them, lie the rambling stone pillars and walls of Yakov’s castle. Yuuri blinks at it, taken aback by the reality of a place he’s heard of only in whisper and rumor. The castle has always been a black speck to him: a wart, a toad, a place of darkness and looming threat. So close, he can see that the walls are white stone, gleaming gold and pink in the morning sun. Midway up the mountain, a heavy wooden gate blocks the road to the castle beneath an ornately-carved arch of stone.

“Not far at all now,” Yuuri says. “We should be at the village before sundown, and then we can find food, get the unicorn some clothes than fit, and spend the night in a real bed.”

Yuri nods in acknowledgement, but doesn’t speak. He sets out once more, finding the descending path into the valley easy enough. Yuuri nods to the unicorn to go ahead again, then brings up the rear.

As they wind their way down the mountain and approach the village, the path widens until it almost resembles a real road. Yuuri chews on his lip, wondering what they’ll find when they arrive. He’d assumed they’d get a chance for rest and resupply here, but every home they’ve stumbled across on the road here was long abandoned. Although there appear to be people still living here, what sort of people would they be? The three of them might very well be walking right into a nest of brigands. 

Apprehension curdles in Yuuri’s otherwise hollow stomach, and he reaches out for comfort. Instead of the unicorn’s silky mane, he finds his fingers trailing across bare skin.

Yuuri gasps, pulling his hand back, seared by the touch. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Why not?” the unicorn asks, offering his arm for Yuuri to take again. “I told you before that I don’t mind.”

Yuuri focuses on the ground before him, watching the small clouds of dust kicked up by Yuri’s steps. “It's different now,” he mutters.

He hears the unicorn’s soft, confused “Why?” behind him, but quickens his pace, pretending he didn’t. 

He remains well ahead of the others for the rest of their descent, forcing himself to move at a bruising rate until they reach the base of the mountain and the ground begins to level off beneath his feet. The last bit of road winds across the valley and through the village itself, forcing travelers to pass through on their way in or out of the castle. Yuuri slows ahead of the last stretch, then stops, waiting for the other two to catch up.

Yuri breezes by him, not even looking, and Yuuri has to catch him by the sleeve. “Wait,” he says. “We need to talk about something. All of us.”

Yuri pulls out of his grasp, folding his arms tight across his chest, but he stops walking. It’s a problem, whatever is bothering Yuri about this situation, and Yuuri knows he needs to resolve it, but there always seems to be something else, some pressing need that goes far beyond soothing wounded feelings.

When the unicorn reaches them, he’s limping from the ill-fitting boots, and guilt twists in Yuuri’s gut. Better old boots and blisters than no shoes and climbing a mountain with bare, soft feet, sure, but it’s his fault that the unicorn needs shoes at all.

Yuuri tries to shake the weight of worry from his shoulders for a moment, pushing it aside to examine again later. “You’re going to need a name,” he says to the unicorn. “We need to work with the villagers to get supplies and information, and you’ll have to pass as human. We can’t walk into the castle and introduce you as ‘unicorn’.”

The unicorn purses his lips. “But I don’t have a name,” he says. “I’m a unicorn.”

“I know that,” Yuuri says. “But humans have names, and you _look_ human. It's only temporary, but for now you need a human name.” He looks to Yuri for support, but the boy has his face turned toward the village. Dimitri had a name, so where did that come from? He wants to ask, but Yuri doesn’t seem receptive to anything from Yuuri right now. 

Instead, Yuuri turns back to the unicorn. “You should pick something you like, something you wouldn’t mind being called.”

The unicorn tilts his head, staring at Yuuri. He should be considering his options, choosing a name for himself. Instead, he’s watching Yuuri as if fascinated. Yuuri resists the urge to bend beneath the measuring weight of that gaze. 

“You choose a name,” the unicorn says. 

“I can’t do that.” Yuuri looks around for Yuri again, but he’ll get no help from that corner. “Your name should be important,” Yuuri continues, almost pleading with him. “Names have meaning in magic. You should choose something that has meaning to you.”

The unicorn huffs in exasperation. “It makes little difference to me what I’m called. Human name or not, human body or none at all, I’m still a unicorn.” He takes a single step forward, and Yuuri’s skin prickles, anticipating the spark of contact. Their chests are a breath from touching, and it hits Yuuri how _tall_ the unicorn is still, as proximity forces him to look up into those eternal blue eyes. There’s no doubting what he is like this.

“Give me a name if you must, Yuuri,” the unicorn says, his breath fanning Yuuri’s bare cheek. “If you want my name to be meaningful, then give it meaning. Make it something magical and precious, and gift it to me. Make it a tribute.” He stops, gazing down into Yuuri’s eyes, and Yuuri wants very much to look away - it’s too close, too much - but he can’t seem to escape the endless depths. 

The unicorn steps back then. Yuuri’s chest is burning. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. The unicorn is waiting, and time is slipping by them like water parts around a rock.

“Victor,” Yuuri blurts out, then flushes, his heart hammering like a child caught reaching for something forbidden. “We can call you Victor.”

The unicorn - Victor - mouths the word as if tasting its shape. The corners of his mouth twist up a bit.

“Great,” Yuri drawls, breaking his silence with a crash of sarcasm. “Well, at least you didn’t call him Yuri too. Now can we move along? It’s getting cold, and I’m _starving_.”

The moment they step foot into the village, Yuuri finds himself tugging at his cloak, as if placing the fabric just right will shield him from the weight of the eyes on them. The village looks far closer to abandonment than it appeared from the mountain pass. The cobblestone roads are marred with unrepaired potholes and discarded waste. The central fountain of the town square stands crumbling, and the remaining scraps of a seasons-old bird’s nest are the only thing spewing from the fountain spout. Many of the houses have fallen into disrepair - doors swing in the wind, groaning on rusted hinges, and sagging rooftops threaten to collapse, spilling their moldy thatch into the street.

There are only a few people out, and Yuuri only catches glimpses of them: the flap of a dark cloak as a man flees into an alley, or the clack of a woman closing shutters as they pass her home. A wooden sign advertising an inn dangles from a single rusted chain, swaying in the breeze. The paint that once displayed a name has peeled away until all that remains is, “NEW ___B__G INN.”

Well, so much for sleeping in a real bed.

Before he can lose all hope of finding anything they need here, Yuri straightens up and inhales deeply. “Do you smell that?”

Yuuri pauses, sniffing the air. A faint aroma of bread and onion reaches him, carries by the cool sea breeze. It could be coming from anywhere, but before Yuuri can say as much, Yuri is off, following his nose with the typical single-mindedness of a hungry teenager. Yuuri and Victor can only do their best to keep up as they pursue him through the central square and down an unmarked alley in search of the source of the smell.

At the end of the narrow alley lies an open food stall. It’s nothing more than a kitchen window with a board nailed to the shutter reading, “PIES”. An older woman shrouded in layers of scarves is making a purchase as they walk up. When she sees Victor, her brown eyes go wide beneath her coverings. She snatches up her food and scampers off down the alley.

A yellow-haired boy leans out the window, looking each way down the alley to see what scared off his customer, and breaks into a fierce, toothy grin when he spots them. “Travelers! Oh, wow. I haven’t seen anyone new in,” he pauses, frowning in concentration, then lights up again, “Ever, maybe!” He waves, beckoning them closer.

Yuri marches over the the stall, but Yuuri follows with more reservation. In a town of grey, brown, shadows, and whispers, the boy at the window stands out, his shock of blonde hair tinged with red like a beacon. The boy could be a bright spot in the world, or a warning of something to watch out for. Yuuri is still drawn in, curious, but above all, hungry. 

“Do you have more?” Yuri asks, leaning in the window past the other kid. “I need at least two pies.” 

The pie boy’s grin doesn’t falter, unfazed by Yuri’s rudeness, and he turns to rummage inside. Yuuri reaches the window and unties his belt pouch, pushing the remaining coins around with one finger. He fishes out a few coppers and places them on the sill while the boy bustles around in the kitchen, wrapping up pies for Yuri.

“One for me too, please,” Yuuri says, then glances back at Victor. The unicorn is frowning, absently twirling the ends of his hair around one finger. He should be hungry, too. Would he even recognize the sensation, if he was? “And another for our friend as well,” Yuuri adds. Worst case scenario, he’ll have to eat two pies himself. It's no hardship.

The boy gathers up the other two pies and passes them through the window to Yuuri, who hands one back to a confused-looking Victor. Yuri, meanwhile, has already shoved his first pie into his mouth and is eying the second, flecks of juice and crumbs decorating the corners of his lips as he chews.

Yuuri takes a cautious bite and feels his eyebrows shoot to his hairline. The pie is _good_ \- vegetables minced in with the rich, warm flavors of tender chopped meat and buttery pastry. It might very well be the best meal Yuuri’s had since he left home, and he tries to slow his chewing to savor the taste.

Behind him, Victor makes a little shocked sound, and Yuuri whips around to find the unicorn staring down at the pie in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s delicious,” Victor says, in the voice of a man who was never taught not to talk with his mouth full. “I’ve never tasted anything like this. What’s in it?”

Yuuri pales as it strikes him that he’s given meat to a herbivore for the first time. “Uh, beef.” Victor’s expression doesn’t change, so he clarifies, “It’s cow meat.”

Victor frowns down at the pie again for a moment, then shakes his head. “Humans are strange,” he reiterates, then takes another bite.

When Yuuri turns back, both of Yuri’s pies have vanished, and the shop boy is leaning his entire upper body out the window to get a better look at them. He flushes when Yuuri meets his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, the first drop in a stream of rapidfire speech. “We don’t get many travelers here. I might have said that. I’m Kenjirou, but that’s my dad’s name too, so everyone calls me Minami. Where are you traveling from? Why are you in New Feltsburg? Are you going to the castle? Do you want more pies? I don’t make them yet, my mom does, but they’re good, right?”

“They’re alright,” Yuri says, as if he didn’t just inhale two of them on his own. He wipes the crumbs from his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

“Thank you, Minami. They were great,” Yuuri says with a small smile. Maybe the food will improve Yuri’s mood. “Could you point us in the direction of an inn?”

Minami shakes his head, scattering a cloud of flour dust in his wake. “The only inn in town was the New Feltsburg Inn up by the square, and they closed down,” he screws his face up in thought. “Eight winters ago, I think?”

“How about a general store?”

Another head shake.

Yuuri sighs. “Well, what about a textiles dealer?”

Minami only shrugs.

“Great,” Yuri drawls as he finishes wiping his fingers on his breeches. “No supplies, nowhere to sleep, and the- _Victor_ is going to be half naked for the rest of my life apparently. What kind of half-assed village is this?”

“I’m so sorry.” Minami’s eyes are wide and glossy brown beneath his red-streaked forelock. “We used to have that stuff, but a lot of people left when the fountain dried up. We have a market where we trade goods and stuff now, but it's more of a once per season kind of thing, and there won’t be another one for a while.”

Yuuri turns to the other two, ready to suggest they move straight to the castle and camp on the road one more night, when Minami interjects once again. “If you need to buy clothes, we do have a tailor, though.”

Yuuri blinks back his surprise. Textile shops that sell basic items of clothing and fabric can be found in most markets and towns. Tailors, specializing in more elaborate clothes, are only found in wealthy cities. “Really? You don’t have an inn or a market, but you have a tailor.”

“Yeah!” Minami perks up and vaults himself over the window sill, landing right beside Yuri. “I can show you where she is! She used to work at the castle. She’s really good!”

Before Yuuri can say anything else, the boy dashes down the alley. He pauses at the end to motion for them to follow, and then he’s off again.

If Minami’s hair were any less visible, they might have lost him as they trailed him in and out of various alleys and tiny, pockmarked streets. The village sprawls out in a spiderweb of little trails, larger than Yuuri expected, and he’s impressed that Minami knows his way around so well. Most of the houses they pass have windows boarded over, and the ones that don’t show little more sign of occupancy. It seems that anyone who could fled the area long ago.

At last, Minami stops in front of a grey stone cottage near the edge of town. There’s no sign outside to indicate a business operates here, but as they approach the door Yuuri can see a wide glass window at the front. An elegant lavender gown is prominently displayed at the front on a dummy form, acting as its own sort of advertisement of the tailor’s work.

Minami taps the iron door knocker and waits, bouncing a bit on his toes. He keeps looking back, as if needing to check again that Yuuri and the others are still there, or that they’re even real to begin with.

The door creaks open, swinging inward, and a woman of indeterminate age sticks her head out. Her long brown hair is piled in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she squints down at Minami in obvious distrust. “What do you want?” she drawls, slurring like she was just woken from a nap. When she sees the three strangers, her posture straightens. “Customers?” She zeroes in on Victor and the sliver of exposed white skin visible in the gap at the front of his borrowed cloak.

The woman steps back, pulling the door open wide for them. “Come in, come in,” she says. “That won’t do at all. Get in here so I can take a closer look at you.”

They step through the door into what looks could be any cozy little home. Light spills through the great window. The front room is decorated with a scattering of chairs around a heavy wood table, which is littered with papers and sewing-related baubles. The fireplace at the other end of the room is lit, illuminating everywhere the sunlight doesn’t touch and keeping the room pleasantly warm.

The woman reaches out and starts unfastening Victor’s cloak without another word. Yuuri steps in, placing his hand over the clasp. “Excuse me,” he says. “But we’re looking for the tailor?”

She finally pries her graze away from the unicorn’s pale skin and looks over at Yuuri, flapping her hands at him. “Yes, yes. I’m Minako. I’m the tailor. Now let me look at this one.”

Yuuri makes a strangled, incomprehensible sound as Minako bats his hand away and unfastens the blue cloak. She pulls it off and tosses it at Minami carelessly, where it lands mostly draped over his head. Victor stands unresisting as the woman pushes and turns him one way, then the other, humming to herself as she scans over him.

“Perfect,” she pronounces, licking her lips. Yuuri shifts on his feet. Is this woman really a professional? “What’s your name, handsome?”

The unicorn looks past her, straight at Yuuri. Their eyes lock, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost smirking. “Victor,” he says, with a little trill on the end.

“Well, Victor, I’m sure I have something suitable for you. Right this way, please,” Minako says, looping her arm through Victor’s.

She pulls him toward another room, then turns around when she notices Yuuri following. She stops him with a hand on his chest. “Sorry,” she sings. “The room is quite small, and he’ll need some privacy to change, don’t you think? You two can have a seat by the fire to wait.”

She doesn’t wait to see if Yuuri agrees, simply sweeps Victor off into the other room and closes the door behind them. Yuri snorts and drops into one of the chairs by the fireplace, kicking off his boots. He wiggles his stocking-clad toes toward the hearth.

Yuuri stands uneasy in the center of the room. He strains to hear through the door, but can only make out the creaking protest of a few loud floorboards. Probably the woman isn’t going to hurt Victor, couldn’t if she tried. He’s certain she has no idea of what Victor truly is, but having him out of sight still sets Yuuri’s teeth on edge.

Still standing near the open front door, Minami clears his throat and pulls Yuuri’s cloak off his head, leaving streaks of flour on the midnight blue cloth. He hands the cloak back to Yuuri, who drapes it over the back of a chair. “She might take a while. I should probably get back home since I left the window unattended and all. Are you okay here?”

When Yuuri nods, the boy’s face lights up. “Great! Well, good luck! See you around!” He waves as he leaves, even though no one waves back.

Yuuri looks around. Untethered, he begins searching for something to do, but of course it’s not his house. It would look odd if he started washing cups in the home of a stranger. He picks up one of the cups on the table anyway and wrinkles his nose as the vinegary stench of wine singes his nostrils.

He puts the cup back where he found it and sinks into the chair next to Yuri’s. He’s tense at first; his brain keeps trying to pull him back to the other room and the mystery of what may be happening behind the door. As he sits, the heat from the fire creeps up, warming him from his toes to his scalp, and he finds himself sinking deeper into the chair, tilting his head back.

“Well,” he says to Yuri. “Even if we have to sleep on the road tonight, at least we got the chance to warm up and eat first. I guess this village isn’t so bad after all, huh?”

Yuri glares at him. He pulls his feet up into the chair and hugs his knees to his chest. “We wouldn’t be in this position at all if you’d change him back,” he grumbles. “Then we’d still have supplies and enough blankets, and we wouldn’t be in here spending money on _clothes_.”

Yuuri can feel the moment when his final thread of patience, pulled tight and worn by the past few days, snaps in two. “What is your problem?” he asks, turning to stare at the boy. “You’ve been an ass to me for days now. If there’s something I need to apologize for, I will, but you need to tell me what it is first, because I haven’t got a clue.”

The kid puts his head down, speaking into his knees, and to Yuuri’s ears it’s a garbled mess of nonsense.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said, _he’s a unicorn_ ,” Yuri snaps.

Yuuri frowns. “Of course he’s-” he lowers his voice, eyeing the door, and finishes, “a unicorn. I’ve known him longer than you have.”

“No, I mean he’s _still_ a unicorn. He may be a different shape, but he’s a unicorn. He’s just a unicorn that you trapped in a human body.” Yuri’s hands clench, white-knuckled on his knees. “You can’t keep him like that forever because it pleases you.”

“It doesn’t please me at all,” Yuuri exclaims. If his face heats after he says it and undermines the words, he can blame the fire. “And I told you it’s not forever. Yuri, are you-” It dawns on him like big ideas always do: a drip, and then a flood. “Is this about Dimitri?”

The way Yuri turns his head to face the wall is answer enough.

“I know you don’t believe me about what happened,” he says. “I don’t care. Whether you think I’m lying or not, I can’t let you pretend nothing is wrong with this.”

“I don’t think you’re lying,” Yuuri says. Yuri looks over. His eyes are narrowed, suspicious, and Yuuri repeats, “I don’t! I know I said before that it was impossible, but obviously I was wrong. I don’t know everything, and if I needed a reminder of that, then I’ve got one now.” He reaches across the space between the chairs and lays a hand on Yuri’s arm carefully, as if expecting to be bitten. “I’m sorry I doubted what you said before.”

The muscles in Yuri’s arm relax beneath his hand, and then the boy shakes him off, sliding his feet back to the floor. “Thanks,” Yuri says. “I guess.”

Yuuri can feel the twinge of an incipient headache at his temple. Of course it’s going to take Yuri a while to let things go. One apology doesn’t erase the problem on its own.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened with Dimitri?” Yuuri asks. “If you’re worried about Victor, it might help if I knew about it.”

“I don’t know,” Yuri says. He slouches down in the chair, staring into the fire. “It’s stupid. I don’t even remember him, so all I have is what Mama said about it.”

“Please.” Yuuri’s voice is quiet even to his own ears, but now he can’t seem to shake a sinking, sour feeling in his gut. If Yuuri’s magic is going to do Victor more harm than it already has, then he needs to know what to look out for.

“Dimitri was a unicorn,” Yuri says. “Even when he wasn’t. Mama said he’d forget sometimes that he’d ever been anything but human, but then it would come back. He started wandering off, and he wouldn’t come home for days. When he did, he was quiet and sad, and he’d only tell Mama he’d been in the wood.” 

“I was just a baby when he left.” He turns away again, but not before Yuuri can see the gleam of firelight reflecting off a wet streak down his face. “He left, and he never came back.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to comfort Yuri, but can’t find the words. He can’t imagine what his life would have been like if his father wasn’t around, and then to have the weight of his mother falling ill as well. He’s meant to be older and more educated, but all his life experience dries up in the face of this. He’s not sure what he can say or do that would be taken well. “We’ll be careful,” he says at last. “I promise.”

There’s a click behind them, and Yuuri stands, relieved for both the interruption and the safe return of his unicorn. Shock wipes the smile from his face when Victor steps through the door.

The gown, deep blue tinged with violet, starts high on his neck and molds to his shoulders and chest. From there, it spills like a waterfall from his trim waist until the embroidered hem brushes against the cottage floor. Victor sees Yuuri watching and smiles, twirling in a little circle. The full skirt blooms out, showing off his slippered feet. “I misjudged human clothing,” he says. “This is much more comfortable than those things you gave me.”

Beside him, Yuri makes a noise of disgust and mutters. “Don’t just leave your mouth hanging open, you pig.”

Yuuri snaps his jaw closed with an audible clack of teeth. Minako smirks, lounging against the door frame. “I’ll take that as a compliment on my work,” she says. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Yuuri says, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “It’s great. It’s, um- It’s very pretty.”

Victor twirls again, pleased by the compliment. Pretty was his goal, after all. Minako had a lot of things in her wardrobe, but this one in particular was _beautiful_ , and the moment he saw it, he knew it was for him.

“It’s-,” Yuuri winces, hating to say anything when Victor is obviously so pleased with his choice, but someone has to be the voice of reason right now. “It’s not very practical, though, is it?”

Victor stops swirling his skirt and frowns at Yuuri. The rich hues of the dress make his eyes look almost violet.

“What do you mean, ‘not practical’,” Minako asks. “He told me you’re headed up to the castle to see King Yakov. I have no idea why you’d want to do such a thing, but this is more than appropriate for that court.” She looks over at Yuri and confides, “I didn’t even enjoy spending time there when the queen paid me to do it.”

“We’re going to the castle now, but we’re travelers,” Yuuri says. “I don’t know how long we’ll even be here before we move on.” He tries not to look at Victor - pretty was an understatement, and it’s tempting to agree and buy him the gown, no matter if Yuuri empties his whole purse in the process. Instead, he focuses on persuading Minako. “Do _you_ often travel in skirts?”

Minako glances down at her short-cropped breeches and belted white shirt, as if she’s forgotten what she put on that morning. “No,” she sighs. “Not unless I have to. Alright, point taken.”

She pinches Victor’s sleeve, tugging him back into the room. “Let’s get you something more suited for the road, hm? I have some options I think you’ll like better than the,” she pauses, eying Yuuri’s plain tunic, and finishes, “Standard fare.”

When they re-emerge several minutes later, Yuuri can see exactly why Minako’s designs were favored by royalty. The gown had been beautiful, but the clothes Victor has on now are so unique, it’s hard to imagine that Minako had such things lying around. Instead of skirts, a high-collared lavender tunic and a simple grey vest are layered over soft calfskin breeches. The cloak draped over his arm is the same rich blue and purple fabric as the gown, and it’s cut in a similar, flowing style.

The whole thing makes Yuuri struggle to swallow a lump in his throat. The coin purse dangling from his belt begins to feel entirely too light for this experience.

He tries to keep his expression flat when Minako tells him how much he owes, but something on his face must betray him as he digs through the little leather pouch at his waist. The price will drain his savings dry, leaving them with bare pennies with which to buy food unless they can somehow earn more money.

Minako stares down at the coins he lays on the table, then groans and slides half of them back. Yuuri starts to protest, but she cuts him off. “Take the damn things. They look better on him than they will anyone else.” She stares Victor down from top to toe. “I’d only get pissed seeing them on some vapid idiot after this. Just be sure you tell anyone who asks where you got them, okay?”

Yuuri is still trying to thank her for the twentieth time as she ushers them out the door and back into the empty streets of New Feltsburg.

Well, empty but for Minami, slouched against the wall of the cottage and picking at the hem of his shirt. As soon as he spots them, he stands at attention and grins. “Hey! My mom said you can stay at my house, that is, if you want somewhere to stay. It’s just the floor, but-” he rambles on, describing in detail such important features of his home as “some blankets” and “more pies”.

“Great,” Yuri mutters under his breath. “More time with this guy.”

Yuuri shoots a glare at Yuri, nods to Minami, cutting him off when he pauses for breath. “Thank you,” he says. “We’d appreciate that.”

In the shadow of King Yakov’s castle, Yuuri finds himself smiling at his friends’ backs as they walk ahead of him to the Minami family home. Yuuri has food in his stomach, he has his new cloak back, and he won’t be sleeping outdoors tonight. Concern twists his gut as he watches the others, remembering Yuri’s warning, but he pushes it down. For now, it seems the world is right. He tries to enjoy that feeling for as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find Morgen's amazing portrait of Victor from the chapter [here](https://morgen-huoreart.tumblr.com/post/175454196301/unicorn-victor-from-louciferishs-on-mans-road).
> 
> Kiaroscuro also drew the scene of the unicorn with butterfly!Chris from chapter one, and you can find that [here](https://kiaroscuro.tumblr.com/post/175372836750/among-the-trees-his-eye-catches-on-a-flicker-of).


	9. The Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The travelers arrive at King Yakov's castle and find unexpected developments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have to put a little warning here for those of you who do not also read my royalty AU. Updates on my ongoing stories may be slowing down for the next few months!
> 
> In the coming months, I have the following projects starting or finishing:  
> \- [Soulbound](https://yoisoulmatezine.tumblr.com/), a YOI Soulmate-themed zine, which I helped organize. Preorders for physical copies of this just finished.  
>  \- Issue #2 of [YOI Litmag](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/) will contain an all-new story by me! This is digital-only and releasing next month.  
> \- [In The Dark Of Night](https://yoihorrorzine.tumblr.com/), a YOI fantasy-horror zine, recently opened applications. I’m helping to organize this along with Morgen, who’s done a lot of the art and graphics for this story.  
> \- Victuuri big bang just ended claims! I’ll be writing a new ~6k story for this, posting in October.  
> \- Otayuri big bang is just _starting_ claims. I’ll be writing ~20k for this, with posting in November.  
>  \- And another zine I can’t yet name! Not announced, but my story for this is due in a month.
> 
> It sounds like a lot when I list it all like that, but I’ve actually completed a good chunk of my work for these projects already, so they may not affect my WIPs much at all. This is just a courtesy heads up in case I do slow down. :) Thanks for your patience.

_What is it that is happening to me?_  
What is it that is happening to me?  
I cannot tell whether to be glad or be afraid.  
What is it that is happening to me?  
The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

They set out from the village after breakfast the next morning, bellies stuffed with pies courtesy of Minami’s mother; rucksacks similarly weighed down with water and whatever dried foods the family could spare. Minami walks them to the exit, jabbering the whole way about what he’ll show them when they pass back through, and Yuuri is already composing excuses in his head in case the youth continues to trail them right up to the castle. They don’t need another stray teenager.

But Minami stops at the edge of the village and wishes them well instead, waving as they pass the last few abandoned homes and begin the steep ascent up the mountain to King Yakov’s castle. 

The climb isn’t as treacherous as the path leading to the village had been, but it still takes time and care. Victor, now warm and comfortable - as comfortable as he can get in this strange form, anyway - keeps taking unexpected detours from the worn pathway.

Yuri circles around to retrieve him for the fourth time, and when they join up with Yuuri once more, Victor presents him with a handful of pebbles, flecked throughout with sprinkles of light and veins of crystal. 

“What are these for?” Yuuri asks as Victor pours the stones into his cupped palms.

“They’re pretty,” Victor replies, smiling down at his little collection. “I want them. Put them in your bag for me.”

Yuuri has already had to take off his rucksack to add two sea bird feathers, a strange curving stick, and a ratty bouquet of thorny mountain roses, though he drew the line at the shining, blue-black beetle which Victor had somehow captured earlier. He does not want to weigh his bag down any more with _rocks_ , but then Victor tilts his head so that his silver hair falls back from the pale, star-shaped mark on his forehead, and Yuuri removes his rucksack with a sigh.

“You sucker,” Yuri says, climbing past them. Yuuri doesn’t argue. He’s a sucker.

They continue up the mountain at whatever pace they can manage until they find themselves passing beneath a carved stone arch. Yuuri and Victor both stop beneath it, craning their necks to see the detail. The white marble is etched up the side with images of nature. Deer gallop among delicate flowers, a boar roots in a towering forest, and a group of mounted huntsmen wait just out of view, spears held at the ready. At each corner, where the pillar becomes a curve, is the rearing figure of a unicorn. 

Yuuri turns, but Victor’s face is serene as he stares up at the image. 

Yuuri reaches out and grasps the crook of Victor’s elbow. There’s still the thrill, the sensation that bubbles and churns in the small of his back at the touch, but it’s diminished by the barrier of fabric between them. 

He tugs at Victor’s sleeve and murmurs, “Not far now. Come on.”

They step beneath the arch to continue, then stop short, blocked by a sudden obstacle. Two guardsmen in full armor stand on either side of the arch, hidden behind the pillars. They cross their polearms to form an X across the road. 

“Halt,” one of them calls out, his voice distorted by the echoes of his helm. “What business have you at the castle?”

Yuuri drops his hand away from Victor’s arm. He can’t afford distractions if this turns south. “We seek audience with King Yakov,” he says.

“For what purpose?” asks the other guard.

Yuuri flounders, gaping like a fish. He hadn’t prepared an excuse. He isn’t sure what to say.

“None of your business,” Yuri interjects. “We’re here to speak to the king, not waste our time on some puffed up nobodies in borrowed armor.”

One of the guards turns, pointing the tip of his spear at Yuri’s chest. 

But the other guard chuckles, the noise rattling around inside his armor. “Oh no, Mickey,” he says. “This kid’s got your number already.”

The guard leans his spear against the arch and pulls off his helmet, revealing a mop of dark blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His expression is open and warm as he reaches over, pushing the other guard’s spear aside with a casual gesture. 

“Welcome,” he says. “I’m Emil and that ‘puffed up nobody’ is my friend Mickey. Don’t take it personal; he does this with everyone.”

“Emil,” the other guard - Mickey - snaps.

Emil continues, undeterred. “I’ll escort you up to the castle.”

“Emil,” Mickey says with more force. “They could be anyone. They could be _assassins_.”

Emil pauses at that and looks them up and down, his expression deadpan. Then, his eyebrows raise to his hairline and he grins. “If anyone is crazy enough to recruit a crew like this to become assassins, then I think they deserve a shot.”

He tucks his helm under one arm and grabs his spear. He nods up the hill. “Come on, boys.” They leave Mickey sputtering behind them.

The last stretch of road leading to the castle is lined with a tangle of brown vines coated in thorns. The grasping branches stretch to the edges of the path, disrupting the stones and cracking the foundations. Similar dead growth mars the white stone walls of the castle ahead, an invading army slowly turning the beauty into ruin.

Emil, seeing where their gazes have turned, sighs heavily. “You wouldn’t believe it when you look now, but this place was incredible when I was a little boy.” He nods to the thorny vines. “Those were rose bushes once upon a time, and the ones on the castle would flower as well. I used to look up the hill from the village and _dream_ of living up here someday, back before the drought really took hold.”

He grins back at them. “Still achieved my dream, though,” he says. “Even if it’s not how I expected.”

Yuuri nods, unable to repress a small smile. Doing something you dreamed of as a kid, but in an unanticipated way - that’s something he can very much relate to.

At last they reach the enormous wooden doors of the castle. Emil puts his spear aside and hands Yuuri his helm. He grasps the ring on the door with both hands, plants his feet wide and leans his weight into it. The heavy door groans as it gives way, revealing the dimly lit corridors within. 

Emil stops pulling when the opening is just wide enough for them to squeeze through single file. He reclaims his gear and precedes them into the grand entryway. The massive room is nearly empty of furniture aside from a few neglected pieces lingering at the edges of the space. The white marble walls are hung with tapestries, but the items are so coated in dust that the colors dull to shades of brown, and the figures woven within become blurred and unrecognizable. 

After passing through the hall, they’re led up a grand, curving staircase. The steps beneath their feet are swept clean and polished by the wear of many long-passed footsteps, but cobwebs weave along the staircase rails and drift on the breeze, trailing down from the high ceilings. As they ascend, the webbing flutters closer, and Emil ducks his head with practiced ease to avoid catching a face full of spiders. 

The staircase ends at another pair of wooden doors, carved with more images of flowers and beasts. Emil plops his helmet back on and turns to Yuuri. “Wait here,” he says, voice ringing metallic off the inside of his helm. “I’ll be right back.” He opens one of the doors just wide enough to slip through, then disappears to the other side.

“So, what’s the plan?” Yuri asks loudly, scowling when Yuuri hushes him. “ _What’s the plan?_ ,” he repeats again in a harsh whisper. “Does anyone even live in this junk heap? I’ve been in dirt-floored huts that were cleaner than this place.”

Before Yuuri can answer or correct him, the wooden door creaks open again, and Emil sticks his head out, once more tousled and free of his helm. “Okay, guys,” he says with a grin. “The boss says you can come in.”

Yuuri’s heart begins to pound, and his skin turns ice cold. Beside him, Yuri pales as he, too, realizes what they are about to do. Only Victor seems unaffected as they stand teetering on the precipice of fate, readying themselves to step forward and confront a king.

Emil’s smile is beginning to fade when Victor reaches out. Yuuri catches the milk-pale hand in his own, and their fingers intertwine. Everything around them seems to stop as Yuuri focuses his eyes on the two hands, palm to palm between their bodies.

The now-familiar sensation of bubbling warmth wells up where their skin touches, running up Yuuri’s arm, and melts his paralysis from tip to toes. He’s still afraid. Of course he’s afraid. He might very well step through those doors to find the Bull itself in the center of the room, eyes like the moon and horns tipped in old blood. But the contact thaws him, and Yuuri looks up from their hands to give Victor a small smile of thanks.

Victor tilts his head in return and tugs gently at Yuuri. “Come,” he says. “Waiting does no good, and I no longer have the time for it.”

Yuuri nods in return, then reaches back to catch Yuri’s elbow and pull him forward as well. As Emil holds the door open, they step over the threshold together. 

The throne room is set in a tower with tall, peaked windows stamped along the circular stone walls. Sunlight streams in and illuminates colorful frescoes that climb the surfaces and round the ceiling, trimmed with gold paint and white mosaic tiles.

Even though the images have faded from sun and dust, and what once was bright cerulean and emerald has dimmed to navy and forest, the murals are still overwhelming. Yuuri is so dazzled by the lights and the colors, it takes a moment to notice the old man sitting stiff in the carved wooden throne.

King Yakov is short and sturdy, and his clothes are plain, worn by time and patched at the knees. His glaring, deeply lined face wouldn’t look out of place beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. If he stood out in the field with a shovel, Yuuri would never suppose this man to be of any particular status. Aside from the throne, the only nod to his title is a thin gold circlet, curled on his head like a bullseye around his bald spot.

A young man leans against the side of the throne, dark-eyed and serious as he watches them, his well-fitted clothing chosen with obvious care. A second young man is perched on a stool far from the door, bright in aspect and attire and cradling a lute against his chest. When he sees Yuuri looking, the musician winks.

The king leans forward, and his action shakes loose a few of the webs draping the top of his throne. Motes of dust and spider silk dance on a suspension of air, visible in the beam of sunlight.

“My man tells me you have some important business before the throne,” he says, in a voice like rocks clattering down the mountains below. He leans back, releasing a poof of filth from the cushions and coughs, hacking into his fist. Once the fit passes, he croaks, “Out with it, then.”

Yuuri glances from side to side at his companions, but neither returns his look. Yuri stands stiff at his side, while Victor has wandered off to stare out the window. Yuuri bends in a deep bow, grasping at straws in his own mind for what to say. Somehow, he never expected to get a true audience with the king. 

“Sire,” he says at last, peering up through his forelock to fix his eyes on the curtaining webs around the throne as they sway in the gentle sea breeze. “We seek employment.”

Yuri looks at him sharply at that, but Yuuri continues to focus on the king, who snorts, not unlike his great Bull. “Employment? As what?”

“A dance troupe,” Yuuri says, and watches as the musician on the stool perks up in interest. 

“ _What_?” Yuri hisses at him, but Yuuri waves him off, rising from his bow to sweep his cloak back theatrically. 

“ _Dancers?_ ” King Yakov asks, barking out a humorless laugh as he gestures to the room. “Have you seen this place? What use have I got for _dancers_?”

“Please,” Yuuri says. “All we need is a demonstration. If you’re not interested, we’ll move along.”

Yakov’s mouth only twists, entrenching his frown further, and Yuuri’s heart flutters as he sees that his gambit has failed. Then, the dark-eyed boy beside the throne leans closer to the king, murmuring something inaudible. 

Yakov shifts on his throne, listening, then nods. “All right,” he says. “Get it over with, then.”

The musician hops up from his stool and hoists his lute to playing position. “Anything in particular I should play?” he chirps.

“Whatever you prefer,” Yuuri says. The musician’s excitement is contagious, despite the seriousness of the situation, and it pulls a small smile from Yuuri. “Give us just a moment,” he adds, then turns to confer with Yuri.

“What the hell are you doing?” Yuri whispers immediately, his eyes darting around the room at the strangers as they bend close to one another. “This isn’t _JJ_ here. Remember what happened last time you tried this shit?” He nods sharply at Victor, who is still lingering by the windows. 

Yuri’s hands are twisting as he speaks, betraying a level of concern even beyond his words. Yuuri remembers not just what happened to Victor, but Yuri, hunched over the motionless silver body as his eyes welled with tears.

“I’m not trying anything,” Yuuri says. He restrains himself from reaching out, knowing it’s not the time for physical comforts. “I don’t know what else to do, but I’m a passable dancer. I don’t have any other skills. Can you dance?”

“Sure,” Yuri bites out. “But not like a _professional_. We’ll be out on our asses before the end of the song.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri says. Seeing the prickly Yuri so discomfited pulls at something within him. Yuuri’s nerves don’t disappear, but they resettle in his spine, steeling his back against the king’s watching eyes. “Just follow my lead, okay? Let the music guide you, and you’ll be fine.” 

Yuri nods and pulls a silk ribbon from his pocket, tying his blond hair back out of his face.

Yuuri turns back to the throne and tells the musician, “Okay, whenever you’re ready.”

A look of fierce concentration settles on the man’s features as he looks down, watching his own fingers on the strings of the lute. At the first jangling notes, Yuuri tamps down his surprise. The bard is better than he expected to find in this place.

The music rises, soft and spicy tones filling the air, and Yuuri closes his eyes as he begins to move, placing all the faith he has left in the boy behind him, the music, and the magic that surrounds them.

Victor is still staring out the window, watching the waves crash against the craggy stone far below the tower. He has never seen the sea before. He watches as the ivory foam sprays upward, reaching for the castle walls. The movement of the water is like a grasping hand, clambering legs. He leans far out the window, his hands gripping the pane, waiting to see what escapes.

Something pulls him back. The sea reaches up, its fingers outstretched like a prince in an old tale, calling for Victor to throw down the ladder. Behind him, a voice calls out. _Turn. Here. Listen._

He leans back into the room and searches for the feeling’s source.

At the center of the tower, Yuuri is dancing. His head is thrown back and his glasses tucked away. He extends his arms to the ceiling and reaches down, dovelike hands caressing the column of his throat. Behind him, Yuri moves in echo, sharp where Yuuri is flowing. 

Power moves through the room, sweet like honey and acrid as the air before a storm, but foreign, unlike anything Victor has touched before. He puts his hand out, as if he can feel it on his skin, but there is nothing there. What is it?

A sharp tug on his senses draws his eyes to the musician, brows furrowed in concentration as he plucks his instrument, and the magic pierces Victor again. It dawns on him abruptly what this is: human magic, _creative_ magic, the forces of change that swirl and push at the unyielding, steady enchantment of the immortal world and demand movement. 

Victor, both human and immortal, can now touch both.

When Yuuri spins again, Victor reaches out. Their hands brush, clasp. Victor catches him.

The music sweeps him up in its arms and he moves with its whims, his fingers dancing along the currents of magic as he turns. His colorful human garments swirl as he moves, and he hears Yuuri suck in a breath, watching. Victor reaches again, and Yuuri spins him out, then reels him in. They press together as if merging, piecing together something broken, and Victor can feel the pound and flutter of Yuuri’s mortal heart in rhythm with his own.

Whatever spell Yuuri thought he could work in this room, it never takes hold. The only magic that guides them is that of the music and the dance and the power of creation. 

The last notes fade, ringing echoes against the golden domed ceiling, and the energy in the room recedes with them. Victor and Yuuri stand, still hand in hand, the currents flowing through them and binding them with blood.

A loud creak breaks the silence in the room as King Yakov shifts on his throne, and they turn to him. Yakov scratches his head, absently rustling the thin grey mop beneath his crown. 

“So,” he says, narrow eyes fixed on Victor. “There’s one of you left after all, eh? How far did you have to run before the thing couldn’t find you?”

Yuuri steps closer to Victor. He hears the faint echoing step as Yuri moves to support him on the other side. Yuuri opens his mouth, fumbling for an excuse to soothe Yakov’s suspicion, when Victor cuts him off. 

“I don’t run,” he says, haughty. 

“Really? The others all did.” Yakov leans back in his throne again, shrewd as he looks at each of them in turn before returning to Victor. “Yet, here you are in my home, so I suppose you are _different_.”

The silence stretches taunt as a bowstring. The muscles of Yuuri’s back begin to ache and protest from the tension, but he remains still, alert.

Yakov rises and takes a single step toward them. Standing, he’s taller than expected - of a height with Victor and Yuuri - and his broad build reveals itself as born of strength rather than sloth. As he raises his chin, staring down his nose at them, there’s a brief glimpse of what he must have been once: proud, capable, a respected ruler.

“Well then,” he grumbles, opening his arms to them. “If you’re here to kill me, let’s get it over with.”

The musician gasps. A cry of steel rings out as the other young man at Yakov’s side draws his sword, holding his blade two-handed and ready. Yakov reaches out and bats the weapon away, heedless of the sharp edges.

“None of that,” the king scolds. “I knew this day would come eventually.” He reaches up, tearing at the neck of his shirt to reveal his chest, bare save for sparse, curling grey hairs. “Someone must end the curse, and we both know I’m too cowardly to do it myself.”

Yuuri raises his hands, desperate to slow the rush of action around him. “We’re not here to kill anyone,” he says. “We don’t even have weapons.”

“That’s not true,” Yuri protests. “I’ve got a dagger.” He pulls a blade about the length of his thumb from his pockets and waves it in the air.

Where did he get that? Yuuri slaps at his hand, sending the little knife clattering to the floor. Yuri dives to recover it as Yuuri turns to tug at the sleeve of Victor’s cloak. 

“You’re here,” he says, sotto voce. “This is your chance. Whatever you need, I’ll do what I can to help.”

Victor’s lake blue eyes are placid as he nods to Yuuri, without a trace of apprehension. He steps toward the king alone, hands outstretched and empty. 

“Please,” he says, and it’s not what Yuuri expected to hear at all. His unicorn, alone and still proud, bends to kneel before the mortal king. He brushes his silvery hair back to expose his throat. “Please stop your creature. Whatever you may have done with the others, I am the last. You may have me.”

A sound tears itself from Yuuri’s throat before he can stop it, the cry more like a kicked dog than a man. His heart cracks in two, then stops, frozen by the sad, slow shake of Yakov’s head.

“You’ve come with the wrong idea,” Yakov says, releasing his shirt collar as he turns to stare out the window, where thin white clouds gather like foam on the waves of blue sky. “The Bull is not my creature to command. It is a curse, set to torment me. I have no say in what it does.” 

The old man’s eyes are watery and pale. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he reaches out with a single knobbled hand to touch the bowed silver head. Victor flinches away, and the hand drops. 

Yakov turns his back on them and hobbles back to his throne, seeming once again small as he drops back to the seat in a cloud of dust. He coughs. A tear traces its path from his eye through the deep crevices of his face. “You may stay,” he sighs in resignation. “If you wish. It will do you no good.”

Victor climbs back to his feet, discarding his humility like an old rag worn past its use. He turns to Yuuri and says, “I want to stay. There is something here. I feel it.”

“Okay,” Yuuri agrees. “We all stay, then.”

Yakov gestures to the dark-eyed man beside the throne. “My son, Otabek,” he says. “He will show you around the castle.”

Yuuri looks at Prince Otabek, intrigued. They share the same black hair, it’s true, but JJ’s men were liars or fools. Otabek is stocky where Yuuri is slender, and he has the solemn face of one who is rarely caught off-guard. No one who had actually seen the prince would ever mistake Yuuri for his doppelganger.

Otabek sheathes his blade in a fluid motion and steps forward, not to Victor or Yuuri, but offering his hand to Yuri instead. The boy’s green eyes widen briefly before he puts his hand in Otabek’s own, and the prince bends to press his forehead to Yuri’s knuckles.

“Welcome,” Otabek says, his voice calm and deep. “I will escort you to your rooms.”

Yuri licks his lips, and for once his silence is not anger or fear, but surprise. “Thank you,” he says after a moment, and his voice cracks, sounding every bit of his sixteen summers. 

“Phichit,” Yakov barks, and the musician hops up from his stool again. “Go find the girl and tell her to air out three rooms.”

Phichit sketches a flourishing bow at the king and trots out of the room just as Yakov jabs a single imperious finger in the direction of Yuuri’s chest. “You,” he says. “Stay. The rest of you may go.”

Victor spares a last glance back at Yuuri as he follows Otabek out of the throne room, but Yuri doesn’t even do that. The door swings closed behind them with a hollow thud.

Yuuri swallows and focuses his gaze on the smooth stones of the floor. Although Yakov claims no control of the Bull, Yuuri is now even more lost on what to think of the man. He came to the castle knowing one thing for certain: the Bull was Yakov’s creature. Now even that foundation is gone.

“Did you do that to him?” Yakov asks, nodding to the door through which Victor left. 

“Not really,” Yuuri says. “I only wanted to keep him safe.” He looks up at Yakov, a curtain of hair spotting his vision. “The magic did the rest.”

Yakov snorts. “Powerful magic, indeed, to do _that_ by accident.” 

The comment is enigmatic. Yuuri isn’t sure what the king is implying. He holds his tongue.

“You’re a fool.”

Yuuri looks up sharply at that, unable to stop himself. “What?”

The old king shakes his head. His mouth twists into a scowl. “You heard me,” he says. “Fool. That boy may have a pretty face, that’s true enough, but he’s not human. He’ll never love you back.”

Yuuri’s heart sinks, and he sputters, struggling to find words to defend his intent.

“There’s a legend here,” Yakov continues, ignoring Yuuri’s fumbling, “Of a unicorn who became a woman. She was fair and bright, and from the moment she arrived, the prince of the land was infatuated. He discarded the princess he’d already courted and performed great feats in pursuit of the new lady’s hand.”

Another tale of a unicorn made human? Yuuri looks down and realizes he’s wearing at the hem of his cloak with his fingers once again. He drops the cloth. “What happened to them?” he asks.

“Though she claimed to love the prince, the lady remained a unicorn within. Trapped in a human body, she withered and mourned and lost grip on herself.” Yakov shakes his head, and his narrow eyes fill with regret. “Eventually, she regained her true form, and she fled. The prince became king, he grew old, but he never married or produced an heir, and the unicorn never returned. The king was never the same, and, according to some versions, neither was the unicorn. My castle is built where that kingdom collapsed.”

In the aftermath of the story, the silence in the room is broken only by the sound of the waves from the windows and the call of the sea birds. Yuuri looks up at the domed ceiling of the tower, where a crackling beige unicorn rampant is painted at the heart of the mosaics. 

He blinks back the moisture that gathers at the corners of his eyes and clears his throat. “It’s different,” he says, sounding harsh even to his own ears. He stares Yakov down, conviction rising from somewhere within and burning through his limbs. “I knew him before. I’m not enamored of some strange beauty who appeared from nowhere. I loved him from the moment we met, just as anyone might love a unicorn. We’ve saved one another. We’ve slept side by side on the cold ground. He’s more than a unicorn to me, and more than a beautiful man. He’s my companion.”

Yuuri’s face heats as he finishes the impulsive declaration, but it does nothing to calm the stormy expression on the king’s face. The flush spreads from Yuuri’s ears down to the collar of his shirt as he stands, unblinking beneath Yakov’s judgment.

Feeling as if he might catch fire, Yuuri turns to flee. He makes it as far as the door before Yakov calls out again. “I still think you’re a fool,” he drawls, his gravelly voice crawling up Yuuri’s spine. “But I wish you luck. It’s hard enough finding a human to love you for a few brief years without pinning your hopes on a creature who can never love anyone but himself.”

Yuuri closes the door behind him and tries to lock away the conversation as well. He can hear voices echoing up the stairway from somewhere below. He jogs off in pursuit, his footsteps pattering like raindrops against the stone.


	10. The Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At King Yakov's castle, Yuuri begins his quest to find the origins of the Bull, and stumbles across the first of many secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might expect, I'm still very busy with zines and bangs and such right now. This story has become almost stress-relieving for me to work on, as I'm settled into the world and have a firm outline for where it's going. 
> 
> [Issue #2](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/post/177291206167/yoilitmag-issue-2-time-it-is-our-pleasure-to) of the YOI Litmag is now out, and I'm one of the authors in the SFW section. If you enjoy magic and also canon-compliance, you might like my contribution!
> 
> If you don't enjoy magic, then why are you ten chapters into this story? ;)

_Where he went, so gay, so fleet,_  
_Star-like lilies at his feet_  
_Flowered all day,_  
_Lilies, lilies in a throng,_  
_And the wind made for him a song:_  


__

_But he dared not stay  
Over-long!_  
\- "The Unicorn," Ella Young

It’s the rich, buttery aroma of fresh bread that lures Yuuri down the twisting stone steps on the first morning, the scent warm and unexpected amid the mildew and malaise of the castle. He follows his nose and the echoing pangs of hunger to a solid wood door, pushes it open, and stumbles into a different house.

The kitchens are well-lit and shockingly clean, lined with wooden counters and tables stained dark with old oil and wine and scored by years of knives, but the surfaces are sturdy and well-scrubbed. The musician he met in the throne room is perched at the table, chirping at a small brown and white cat. Yuuri closes the door just in time, as a dark-haired girl throws open the oven, releasing a wave of heat into the room, and retrieves two perfect loaves of crusty brown bread.

Yuuri’s mouth is already watering.

“Well,” the musician calls out. “Good morning, new face!”

Though the greeting is cheerful enough, and the food is tempting, Yuuri hesitates.

The girl turns around, and her violet eyes go wide when she spots him. “Oh, the travelers!” she exclaims. She puts the bread on the counter to cool and scrubs her hands across her apron. “Oh, my. We didn’t meet yesterday, did we?”

She rounds the table and drops a quick curtsey toward Yuuri. “I’m Sara. I’m the maid here, and the cook, and well-”

“Sara does everything but guard the gate and wear the crown,” the musician cuts in with a grin. He leaves off beckoning to the cat and extends a hand to Yuuri. “I’m Phichit, by the way. We met, but we weren’t really introduced. Your dancing was incredible!”

Yuuri flushes as his hand is shaken enthusiastically. “Thank you. You’re a very talented lutist.”

Once his hand is free, Phichit waves away the complement, then pulls out the stool beside him. “Come on, sit down. We all pitch in around here, if you don’t mind.” He reaches into a bowl on the table and pulls out a deep red apple and a single chicken egg. “Would you prefer to slice apples or peel eggs?”

Yuuri happily takes the egg.

That’s how Yuri finds him some unknown time later - laughing fit to cry at Phichit’s animated rendition of a bawdy song, with a pile of egg shells on the table beside him.

Yuri’s hair is a tangled morning mess, and his eyes are still blurry with sleep as he descends the stairs, a plush maroon robe wrapped over his slept-in clothes. “What’s so funny?” he asks, as Phichit goes quiet. “I can hear you all the way upstairs.”

His eyes widen at the sight of fresh food, and he grabs one of the eggs without a word. Sara tries to slap his hand, but the boy is too quick, and half the egg is already in his mouth before she reaches him.

“Wear a dee foo een gum rum?” Yuri asks, garbled through his mouthful of dry egg. Everyone stares as he chews, then finally swallows it down and tries again. “Where’d all this food even come from?”

Oh, right. The drought. Yuuri hadn’t even thought to ask. A sour mix of guilt and dread churns his stomach and threatens to reject the bits of breakfast he’d already filched for himself.

“We have a garden outside the kitchen,” Phichit says, nodding to a nearby wooden door. “Chickens, too. There’s powerful magics on it, set by the queen herself.” He finishes slicing the apple he was working on and tosses the core on the floor. The cat skitters out from beneath the table to chase it as it bounces across the stones.

“It feeds the whole castle,” Sara says. “Not that there’s many of us. I preserve the rest, and Emil carries it down to New Feltsgate whenever they hold a market.”

She lowers her eyes, focusing on the dough she’s already kneading for the next day’s meals, and quietly adds, “They started refusing to take ‘handouts’ from us a few years ago, but we do what we can. If they ever figure out who Emil is, I suppose we’ll have to sent Mickey.”

“God forbid,” Phichit mutters. He puts down his paring knife and turns to face Yuuri fully. “We’re still missing one, aren’t we? Where’s your third dancer?”

Yuuri looks out the window. The sun is high in the sky already, casting sparkling gold flecks into the distant sea. The morning is getting on, and, now that Phichit has mentioned it, it’s strange that there’s been no sign of Victor.

“I should check on him,” Yuuri says, sliding from his stool. “He may have gotten lost in the castle.”

“He’s not helpless,” Yuri says, wedged halfway under the table in an attempt to lure the cat out with a bit of egg yolk. “He can figure it out. Besides, if he doesn’t make it down here, then there’s more food for me.”

Yuuri hesitates. Yuri is right to say that Victor can look after himself, probably, but he’s still so new. The thought of leaving him to find his own way makes Yuuri apprehensive after so long relying on one another.

“Here.” Sara hands Yuuri a small tray and begins loading it up with enough food for two, along with tea and water. “If you’re going up to check on him anyway, then you might as well take breakfast with you.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Yuuri protests, but Sara shakes her head at him.

“I haven’t met your mysterious third dancer, but Phichit has told me a little, and I _really_ insist.” She raises her brows at the musician over Yuuri’s shoulder. When he turns, Phichit has already schooled his face back into a placid smile.

Before Yuuri can lodge further complaint or demand explanation, Sara has herded him out the kitchen door and back into the cramped spiral staircase.

Victor’s room is just down the hall from Yuuri’s own, and he makes his way along the corridor slowly, careful not to let any of the eggs roll off the tray to freedom. The guest wing of the castle has a musty smell of mothballs, cold stone, and damp, but it’s well-lit by a single peaked window at the very end. A stained glass mosaic at the tip creates a spectrum of rainbow lights that scatter along the walls and floors.

There’s little decoration in this part of the castle aside from a couple rugs, stained and worn down to grey in patches from years of foot travel. On the wall next to Yuri’s room there’s a strange, light-colored patch, as if something once hung there, but was since removed.

Yuuri taps at the heavy wooden door to Victor’s bedroom and get a muffled, unclear response. Well, at least he’s awake. Yuuri tries the handle, and the door swings open easily.

He peers through and almost slams it closed again.

Victor is awake, yes - awake and standing by the window, his back to Yuuri, and wearing nothing but his shirt. It’s only the fall of his hair and the tail of his tunic that keeps the view from being indecent as the cloth hem brushes the tops of his thighs.

Yuuri’s first thought is to close the door and pretend he was never there. He certainly doesn’t intend to make a sound, but, despite his best intention, something must slip out.

Victor turns from the window. When he sees Yuuri, his already incandescent face lights up with visible relief. “Yuuri,” he pleads. “Come save me.”

Eyes on the floor, Yuuri edges along the wall with the breakfast tray, praying to whatever force might be listening that he can make it and set the food on the dresser without having to look up again.

“Save you from what?” he asks. It’s amazing he can speak through the flames that seem to be engulfing his face.

“I got this thing on,” Victor says, and Yuuri is just going to _assume_ he means the shirt, because _not looking_. “But there’s a tie, and I don’t know how-” he cuts off with a frustrated grunt. “And then what goes next?”

The tray finds its way onto a safe surface, and Yuuri chews on his lip, thinking. Victor’s put on pants on his own before. He didn’t do it _well_ , but at the very least he could make this experience a bit less mortifying. Yuuri pretends he’s a carriage horse on the way to the wardrobe. He can’t see around his blinders. He locates Victor’s pants and holds them out in the direction of the window while turning his face to the wall.

“Put these on next, please,” Yuuri says. “If you can, then I’ll help with the rest.”

Fabric rustles, interspersed with a few breathy grunts Yuuri can’t think about too deeply, and then Victor says, “I think I have it.”

Yuuri looks up. He does have the pants. The rest of him, however, is a disaster.

The clothes are one thing - wrinkled, untied, and a general mess, yes, but functional.

But it’s the hair that Yuuri really despairs of; all that wonderful, fine silver hair is in tatters and tangles, sticking out in every direction and frizzing at the crown.

“It felt so nice to get the clothes off last night,” Victor says, frowning in consternation. “But when I went to put it all back on this morning, I got stuck on these.” He tugs the lacing at the neck of the tunic to illustrate.

“I can show you,” Yuuri says, and steps forward to take the laces in his own hands. Up close, Victor smells like sunlight and crushed grass, the same as he always has, but beneath that, an acrid hint of sweat. It makes the whole scene familiar-and-not, and Yuuri’s head swims, confronted up close by the notion of the unicorn overlain by human skin and human needs.

It takes three slow, careful demonstrations before Victor finally ties the lacings of his breeches without assistance. The knot is clumsy and crooked, but should hold.

The vest is an unmitigated disaster. Victor fumbles with the small buttons, unable to reliably force them through well enough to stay fastened. After several tries, he rips the vest off and tosses it onto the bed.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he mutters. “I want the dress back.”

Yuuri shakes his head, retrieves the vest, and folds it back into the wardrobe. “I don’t think that dress is an option any more, but it might not be a bad idea for you to find other clothes,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “If only so we can wash the ones you have. If you ask around the castle, there might be something that will fit you.”

Once the clothes are taken care of, Yuuri begins rummaging around the room for a comb to do something about the hair. He finds a tarnished silver vanity set in the top drawer of the dresser and offers the comb and brush to Victor.

The unicorn looks at Yuuri’s hands as if examining a strange and possibly venomous insect. “What are they for?” he asks at last, and Yuuri sighs.

“You need to fix your hair,” he says, thrusting the brush more insistently toward Victor. “It’s getting tangled.”

“No, no,” Victor counters, pushing the item away. “You misunderstand. Unicorns enjoy being brushed and coddled, but we do not _need_ it.”

He tilts his head at Yuuri, wide blue eyes seeming so guileless as he adds, “If you wanted to braid my mane, Yuuri, then you only needed to ask.”

In response, Yuuri reaches out, weaves a finger among the silver strands right above a knot and _tugs_ lightly.

Victor gasps and rears back in response. He yanks his hair away from Yuuri, clutching it tight against his chest and stroking the place where Yuuri pulled soothingly.

“Sorry!” Yuuri exclaims. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He’s done more than enough in that arena already, but leaving this alone would only make things worse later. He offers Victor the brush again.

Still holding his hair, Victor peers at it with more consideration. “Will you help again?” he asks.

 _Yes_ is the first instinct. Yuuri’s memory of that night by the fire, when he braided ribbons into the unicorn’s mane, is a moment illuminated in his mind. There’s nothing in him that doesn’t want to have that again, and yet…

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Yuri?” he asks. “He’s better at this than I am.”

Rather than respond, Victor takes a seat in front of the dresser, sliding his hair back over his shoulders. It’s all the invitation Yuuri needs.

Fixing the mess of snarls and twists is a slow and careful process, and Yuuri begins by running his fingers through the strands from root to tip, searching the surface for troublesome areas. At each tangle, he stops before it can pull and picks it apart, working it like a stubborn knot in a bootlace.

At the start, Victor tenses with each tiny pull, but by the time Yuuri works his way to the other ear the tightness is ebbing from his shoulders, and Victor leans back to rest his head against Yuuri’s stomach.

“Do you think King Yakov is telling the truth about the Bull?” Yuuri asks, breaking the silence. Victor’s shoulders tense against him, and Yuuri strokes the muscles at the base of his neck in apology, causing them both to shiver at the fizz of skin on skin.

“What reason would he have to lie?” Victor counters. “He already knew we weren’t prepared to kill him.”

Yuuri hums and reaches for the brush to clear out the last minor snares and smooth the flaws. “I’m not sure what to think,” he admits. “It’s not the first time I heard the Bull called Yakov’s curse, but if it’s a curse on the king, then why has it gone after the unicorns? Why would capturing them impact Yakov?”

“I suppose it depends on why he was cursed, and by whom.”

Yuuri nods, although Victor can’t see it. Curses. He doesn’t know much about them. He was never interested, frankly. Other types of magic seemed more useful and less malicious. When was the last time he encountered a story of a “curse” that turned out to be anything more than simple bad luck?

Back at Lilia’s caravan, he knows there is a thick, leather-bound book at the foot of his cot on the topic of magical history. In his trunk is a selection of biographies on great witches and magicians. Neither is doing him any good where they are, likely days from here and gathering dust, or else stolen away by one of the other apprentices.

Yuuri makes a frustrated noise. A large chunk of his magical education was more about how to _research_ solutions. Without his books, without access to a magical library…

“Ow!” Victor exclaims at the sharp tug on his scalp.

Yuuri covers his mouth. “Sorry! I just- I just realized something. Do you think the castle might have a library?”

Victor tilts his head back, blinking up at Yuuri. “How in the world would I know?” he asks, and Yuuri has to laugh at bit at that, because _of course_ the unicorn wouldn’t have the answer to that.

He’s going to have to ask the king.

-

After escorting Victor to the kitchens to find Yuri and the others, Yuuri makes the ascent back up the castle tower, this time on his own. The room where they met yesterday stands empty aside from a few small spiders, busy crowning the old throne with a new blanket of cobwebs along the top.

Yuuri finds a second doorway in the room, leading to another wide hall. How large is this place? The castle seems compact from the outside, but within its chambers are stacked on one another like a jumbled puzzle box.

The hall here still has its decorative portraits in place - men and women, crowned in satin and gold, each with a familiar twist to the mouth or a wrinkle about the eyes that betrays their relation to the current ruler.

Wood smoke, faint but pungent, overlays the now-expected scents of dust and damp, and Yuuri follows his nose to an open door at the end of the hall.

In a small, dark room with heavy curtains, King Yakov sits uncrowned in a chair of faded lavender velvet, his feet propped up on a small table. There’s an open book in his lap, a drink in his hand, and a fire snapping away in the nearby fireplace.

Yuuri taps at the door frame, and Yakov raises his head sharply, lines immediately returning to his brow.

“You,” he says, his voice flat. “Changed your mind about killing me?”

“No!” Yuuri’s face heats when the king raises a brow at his vehement response. “I…,” Yuuri hesitates, twisting his hands in front of himself as he tries to find the right phrasing. “I need to ask a favor.”

“Are housing and company not enough for you?”

Yakov peers up at Yuuri over his spectacles, and whatever he sees prompts a heaving sigh. He snaps the volume on his lap closed and drops his feet to the floor. “Very well,” he says. “Out with it, then.”

“I don’t mean to be a bother, but,” Yuuri drops his eyes deliberately to the red leather book in Yakov’s hands. “Do you happen to have a library around here?”

Yuuri clutches his hands together, attempting to still himself as each bright pop from the fireplace makes him twitch.

“My wife had a library,” Yakov says at last. “I locked it when she left. One less room for the maid to not clean.”

Yakov’s face is deeply carved marble, and his eyes are steel. There’s no indication that he has even a feather’s worth of sympathy for what Yuuri wants.

But, the library remains the best - the _only_ \- idea that Yuuri has.

“I need to get in,” he says, firming his voice. 

For a long moment, the only movement in the room is the flicker of firelight lengthening the shadows on the floor. Then, Yakov stands up. He walks to the fireplace and opens a small ivory box set in the mantle, so unobtrusive that Yuuri would never have noticed it on his own. From the box, Yakov produces a single, snaggle-toothed iron key.

“Follow me,” he barks.

Yakov leads Yuuri back out into the hall, past the judgemental portraits of his ancestors, to a looming double door set alone on one wall. The key clicks easily in the lock, and beneath Yakov’s hand the door opens without a sound.

Yuuri steps close after him and enters the kind of library any bookish kid would dream about. Wall to towering wall, the space is almost entirely covered in bookshelves that stretch to the ceiling. The highest points not occupied by books are set with windows, and a glass skylight dominates the dome above, still allowing sunlight to stream into the room despite a thick coating of grime and dead leaves visible from below.

In the center of the room, a carpeted area houses two solid-looking wooden desks, a pair of overstuffed armchairs, and a small table still stacked with a jagged tower of books.

Like the windows, the room is draped with a thick coating of dust - noticeable enough that the narrow track of footprints from the door to the chairs looks alarming amidst the rest. Where someone has recently trod, the rug looks more crimson than burgundy, worn clean.

“I thought you said no one was allowed in here,” Yuuri says, caught off guard by the footprints.

“Only I have the key,” Yakov replies. His voice is quieter than usual, thick with something unfamiliar. “But I come to visit her sometimes.”

Yuuri turns, dragging his eyes from the heavenly shelves for a moment to ask what Yakov means.

Hanging above the entryway is an enormous portrait in an ornate and gilded frame. The woman in the painting is unmistakably regal, from her rod-straight back to her haughty expression, and Yuuri would have guessed she was a queen even without the aid of the furs and jewelry draping her body.

Extravagant clothing does nothing to hide those familiar hawk’s eyes. The face may have fewer lines, and the hair may be a bit less grey, but there’s no doubt who is staring down at Yuuri from the wall of her library.

“Madame Baranovskaya?” he gasps.

When he turns to Yakov, he finds only a wry twist to the king’s mouth as he continues gazing up at the portrait. “Is that how she calls herself now?” He shakes his head. “Well, I’m not surprised. She never cared much for being a Feltsman.”

He turns to Yuuri, and the strange expression on his face almost becomes a smile when he takes in the shock Yuuri is failing to hide. He had never doubted that Lilia was no commoner - bearing like hers just didn’t occur outside the upper classes - but a _queen_?

“I could see her hand in the way you moved,” Yakov says, his voice gruff and his eyes still soft around the edges. He nods to the center of the carpeted area, the clear circle between desks and chairs. “I used to watch her work her spells in here often. There’s no lift to her hand or tilt to her head that I wouldn’t recognize. She passed some of them to you.”

“Lilia knew about the curse.” Yuuri doesn’t need to ask. As soon as he saw the portrait, he knew.

Yakov answers anyway. “Yes,” he says. She left me for it.”

His grey-blue eyes scan the bookshelves as if searching for something misplaced. “She spent many days and nights in this room, hunting for my cure among the pages, until I found her with tears in her eyes and she blamed the candle light as I dragged her to bed.”

He turns back to Yuuri, pushing aside the ghost of memory once more. “She never found a thing in all those years,” he says. “I can’t say I have much hope that _you’ll_ do any better, even if you have found one thing she couldn’t already.”

Reaching out, he drops the key in Yuuri’s palm. “You may come and go as you please. Unless the library catches fire, don’t bother me again.”

He leaves before Yuuri can even open his mouth for another question or a word of thanks. Yakov shuts the doors behind him, leaving Yuuri alone with the silence, the books, and the shrewd gaze of his old teacher watching his every move. He swallows the sense of being observed and walks to the nearest shelf.

-

When Yuuri knocks on Victor’s door the next morning, his eyes are still burning from the long hours spent reading the night before. He’d been in the library most of the day, until sharp hunger pangs finally drove him back to the kitchens and then onward to bed. Even then, he’d lugged a heavy tome on curses and healing magics along with him to his chamber, falling asleep with his forehead pressed to the leaf-thin parchment.

He’s not sure what to expect when he presses open the door to Victor’s bedroom, but is relieved to find that the unicorn has, at least, figured out pants on his own.

However, the open vest he’s wearing indicates that buttons remain an enemy.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” Victor chirps, turning away from the window at the shuffle of boots on stone. He holds his arms out straight from his sides, and the white fabric of the shirt sleeves billows out like a sail. The neckline, untied, droops off one pale shoulder.

“Did I do this right?” he asks. “I got new things from the others yesterday and they’re… different.”

He wrinkles his nose, and it’s like a mirror world - Yuuri’s ethereal, majestic unicorn, suddenly turned very human and very _cute_ in a single, small gesture. Yuuri has a moment to wonder vaguely where he learned it, and then it’s gone.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says, still shaking off the dissonance as he sets down the breakfast tray and goes to the wardrobe. “The shirt looks a bit big, though. You may need a belt.”

He locates a plain leather strap and wraps it around Victor’s waist as he holds his arms above his head for Yuuri to work.

“The others were very helpful,” Victor says. “Phichit and Emil found spare clothes for me, and then Sara brought me out in the garden with her.”

“That’s nice,” Yuuri says absently, as he ties the open collar of the shirt beneath Victor’s chin.

“It was strange.” Yuuri looks up to see a faint frown creasing the unicorn’s smooth skin. “I’ve never been around humans so much, without you.”

Yuuri hesitates, hands still smoothing Victor’s shirt collar. “Do you mind?” he asks. “Does it bother you, being near so many people?”

“Sometimes, I get caught by surprise. I was in the garden, picking apples, and I forgot Sara was there too.” Victor’s eyes seem distant, the blue lake turned turbulent within. “When she made a noise, my heart started pounding, and I wanted to run into the forest.”

He looks down at Yuuri, tilting his head in consideration. “The only thing that stopped me from going was the feeling of the apple in my hand - my _human_ hand. It was… uncomfortable.”

Yuuri’s breath rattles as he exhales, trying to breathe out the guilt before it overwhelms him. He must have apologized for what he did so many times, and yet he still wants to say he’s sorry. Victor and Yuri are probably tired of hearing it.

“Why don’t you sit down,” he says instead. “Can I fix your hair again?”

The glimmer of a smile that Victor gives him is a hint of _I forgive you_ that Yuuri almost believes.

His mane has fewer serious tangles after the attention it got the day before, so Yuuri picks up the brush and sets to work slowly smoothing out the messy strands. He can’t resist humming to himself a little as he watches the brush glide down again and again. There are no words to the song, just a gentle thrumming tune he remembers from watching his mother at work as she bustled around the kitchen or sat at the old loom.

Brushing Victor’s hair has a hypnotic quality. The sunlight from the open window gathers and reflects from the strands of silver, and the repetitive motion is so simple and pleasant. It’s easy for Yuuri to lose track of time and himself in the patterns.

He shakes the spiderwebs off his mind when Victor’s head lolls back, his breathing deep and even. Yuuri’s not the only one who finds it soothing, then. He taps Victor’s shoulder, and the unicorn wakes again with a start, tensing beneath Yuuri’s hands.

“Ah.” Victor shakes his head. “I drifted off. Today, maybe a braid? Yesterday it was in my way whenever I lowered my head. Sara had to pull it back for me.”

“It’s not going to look great,” Yuuri warns. “I’m not very good at this.” But Victor only shrugs beneath his hands in response, so he begins gathering and separating the fine strands for the braid.

Yuuri plaits in a halting pattern, folding the carefully-gathered sections each over the other. As he does so, his clumsy fingers brush across the cool skin at the nape of Victor’s neck. He represses his shiver at the familiar, bubbling feeling in his veins, but then stops.

Lowering the unfinished braid, he presses his hand deliberately against the back of Victor’s neck, then runs his palm down to the exposed collarbone. Victor leans back, staring up at Yuuri’s puzzled expression.

“Something is wrong,” Yuuri says. “When I touch you, it feels… different.” He traces his thumb along the column of Victor’s throat, and Victor leans into the touch, but the sensation he normally gets, it’s… He makes a frustrated noise, unable to find the right word.

“Yes,” Victor nods, chin brushing along Yuuri’s wrist. “I noticed it myself a few days ago. It’s only gotten stronger.”

Yuuri honestly thought the sensation was just _him_ \- him, reacting to the sheer joy of touching a unicorn, the thrill of a unique and somewhat dangerous experience. Victor’s words make the phenomenon sound mutual and curious, but expected.

It had never occured to Yuuri to ask before, but now he must.

“What is it?”

Victor leans back into the hands now pressed firm against his shoulders. He licks his lips, considering his words carefully, then says, “Magic is like music.”

Yuuri nods. That’s one of the first things Lilia - _Queen_ Lilia - had told him, when he was accepted as her apprentice. The same phrase had once been repeated to her. The earliest lesson of any witch or magician is this: that magic is a melody that stirs the air around you.

“Magic is a song,” Victor continues, “Not just one song, but many. There’s a song of the earth and a song of the sea. There is a song in the magical creatures, like the harpy, and another song in the spell that locked the door of my cage in the caravan. I have a song that makes up my own magic as a unicorn, and you have one all your own, which makes you a magician.”

He reaches up and interlaces his fingers with Yuuri’s own, and the feeling between them doubles and redoubles. Yuuri closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation. Distantly, the bubbles become a trickle and then a single, echoing note like a guitar being tuned in the next room.

Yuuri’s eyes fly open. “I think I hear it,” he gasps, and Victor smiles up at him. “Or, I did. I heard something.”

“When we touch, your magic touches me too, and mine echoes back,” he strokes a single elegant finger down the back of Yuuri’s hand. “The sensation is a reflection of the places where our songs harmonize or diverge.”

Victor’s caresses are beginning to stir up feelings in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach that have nothing to do with magic, and he catches Victor’s fingers in his hand to still the movement. “Okay,” he says, trying to release his tension in a slow exhale. “That makes sense, but why is it different now? What’s changed?”

“I have, of course.” The statement is matter of fact, but the tone beneath that is twisted with threads Yuuri can’t place. “You’ve enchanted me, Yuuri.” Victor pauses, and raises his free hand to tap at his chin, another strangely human gesture. “I’ve never had an enchantment on me before.”

“It’s your magic that made me this form,” Victor says. “Your magic _keeps_ me looking human. That means your song is in my blood now, Yuuri.” He squeezes Yuuri’s fingers. “Your magic and my magic are no longer two different things that collide when we do; they’re becoming one.”

It hits Yuuri like a rogue wagon, the implication. The storm of questions overwhelms his mind and his tongue, and his hand drops from Victor’s, his fingers gone nerveless and limp. _What happens if you don’t change back?_ he wants to ask, but his lips can’t find the space to form the words, overwhelmed by the echoing scream of, _I did this. I did this. I did this._

“Yuuri?”

The uncertainty in Victor’s voice cuts through the noise in his head better than his name does, and Yuuri blinks, staring down at the messy, half-finished silver plait hanging over the back of the chair.

Yuuri tugs it lightly. “I’ve screwed this up. Don’t worry, I’ll - I’ll find Yuri for you. He’ll fix it.”

He leaves the room before Victor can say anything else. He can get Yuri to finish Victor’s hair. He needs to get to the library.

-

Yuuri closes the heavy tome with a snap, then sneezes as a cloud of dust erupts from the surface of the desk. His eyes are watering, not just from the dust, but the hours of reading in the dim light that filters from the windows high above. He’s not crying with frustration yet, but he can feel it lurking around the corner, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike.

He looks over at the pile of discarded books in the desks edge. There must be a dozen already - books on curses, books on magical creatures, and even books on the basic fundamentals of magic, in case he missed something in his early education that might be helpful now. In all those pages, he’s found nothing on the Bull, and, despite the other transformation stories he’s heard from Yuri and Yakov, nothing substantive in the way of information about what happens when you accidentally turn an immortal creature into a human man.

The chair creaks as he shoves it back and goes to put the books back in their places. He works his way around the room, checking each shelf to see if there’s anything similar stacked nearby, but he hasn’t been able to figure out what organizational system Lilia’s books are shelved in. Either the system is too archaic for Yuuri to puzzle out on half a breakfast and panic-fueled obsession alone, or things have gotten displaced over the years and never recovered.

Certainly, there are large gaps on some of the shelves, where mice and spiders have made sturdy little homes among the pages. Were those books lost, or did Lilia take them with her when she left? She would have taken the most useful ones, of course. That would explain why Yuuri can’t find anything.

He slides the last book into place and circles the sitting area. Dropping into the cleanest of the two cushioned chairs, he stares up at Lilia’s portrait where it overhangs the door.

“I wish you were here,” he says. “You never made it easy, but you knew when to help and when to let us figure things out on our own.” Lilia’s shrewd eyes are unblinking, still judging his performance. His fingers dig into the soft velvet on the arms of the chair. “I wish I’d asked you more questions about what you wanted before I left, even though I know you wouldn’t have answered.”

Yuuri reaches beneath his glasses to rub his eyes. Those frustrated tears are creeping ever closer to the surface, and his fingers press in until it hurts. When he takes his hands away, he sees spots, and blinks to clear his vision.

His eyes refocus on the small stack of books beside the chair, and he reads through the titles: _Your Friendly Neighborhood Magician_ , _The Folk of the Air_ , _Two Hearts_ , and a couple pamphlet-thin volumes that look to be romantic poetry.

Wedged among them, a brown leather spine with no title catches his attention, and he carefully pulls it out from among the others. The beaten hide of the binding is brittle and smooth beneath his fingers, and the book is tied closed with a green silk ribbon. He pulls the tie free and opens to a random page.

Familiar, spidery scrawl covers the thick parchment pages from top to bottom, and his breath catches. Lilia’s notes, written in her own hand. He begins to flip through.

Arcane symbols jostle for space with lists of ingredients for recipes and cramped sideways notes-to-self like _try again on new moon_ and _found book. more like ravings of lunatic than research notes. useless._ On one page, in blots and scratches of black ink, is an illustration: the hulking, dark shape of the Bull itself.

Yuuri flips through to the end, but the last pages are blank. He turns back, page by page, searching to see where Lilia left off, hoping for some clue hidden among the ramblings, some hint as to why she left the castle and what she took.

The last used page is filled with writing like those before it, a conglomeration of choreography and melody, mixed with a random note of _Beka no longer cares for pears. I must try planting apples next growing season._

At the end, the final note is even messier than the others, as if scribbled down in great haste. _The unicorns are the key_ , it says. _There is no other solution._

Yuuri looks up from the journal, his eyes meeting Lilia’s through the portrait again. “What does it mean?” he begs. The painting does not answer.


	11. The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centuries old, and Victor still has much to learn about humans.

_"If she had touched me," he said very softly, "I would have been hers and not my own, not ever again. I wanted her to touch me but I could not let her. No cat will... The price is more than a cat can pay.”_  
\-  The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

“Sara, please,” Yuuri says as Yuri slips through the door to the kitchens, following his nose to breakfast as he does every morning. “This is more than enough.”

Heedless of his pleas, the woman drops another crusty loaf end on his breakfast tray. She stands with her hands on her hips, eyeing the selection. 

“What about drinks?” she asks. “I just finished brewing a fresh keg of beer yesterday.”

Yuuri shakes his head, raising his hands as if to ward her off. “No, it’s fine. Victor doesn’t drink and I-” He cuts himself short when Yuri snorts behind him. Victor doesn’t drink _anymore_ , not after what happened the last morning Sara had sent beer up with breakfast.

Maybe Yuri should ask if there’s a spell Yuuri knows to erase horrifying memories.

“Water?” Sara suggests. She turns to the water jug, not waiting for Yuuri’s reply to begin filling a carafe. 

“Don’t bother complaining,” Emil advises, grinning as he stuffs a couple more apples in his rucksack. Yuri takes the chance to swoop in and grab one for himself, then filches the extra bread from Yuuri’s tray for good measure. “Sara only wants to make sure you’re prepared if you work up a thirst.”

Yuuri throws up his hands in frustration, and the fire in the oven gutters. “I’m just going upstairs,” he exclaims. “It’s not _strenuous_.”

Sara manages to slip extra water onto the breakfast tray before he lifts it anyway, and then Yuuri totters past Yuri, nodding in acknowledgement as he makes his way toward the stairs.

Yuri’s palms slip in the sand as he slides down onto the cool stone floor of the kitchen. He chirps at the little cat, and she dashes out of her hiding place beneath the table to come sniff his hands.

“You didn’t even bother saying good morning to us first,” Emil grouches, lobbing an onion butt at him.

Yuri shrugs and scratches the cat’s head. “I don’t care what you think,” he says. Cats have much higher standards than people. Her opinion is the only one that matters.

Sara huffs at him, but she’s too busy finishing up breakfast to really scold. Looking around, Yuri finds a wheat stalk jammed into the crack where floor meets wall, and he fishes it out. The cat raises her ears, focused immediately on the new toy, and soon Yuri has her bounding around him in circling pursuit. 

Emil finishes packing up his and Michele’s shares. He ruffles both Phichit’s hair and Sara’s, tilts his arm to show Yuri where the teeth marks on his hand are still healing from when he tried to include Yuri in the ritual, and skips out the back door, whistling a cheery tune. 

“How long do you think ‘upstairs breakfast’ will take today?” Phichit asks Sara, his voice sly as he reaches for another potato. 

Sara hums. “Well, yesterday they actually came down pretty quickly, so I’m betting today they linger.” She smiles as she shakes the flour off her apron toward the open back door. “I wouldn’t blame them if they do.”

Yuri wrinkles his nose and feigns gagging. The way these two gossip about Yuuri and Victor is obscene. He wouldn’t like it if there _was_ something going on, but there definitely isn’t. “Stop being gross,” he snaps at them. “Just lay off for one morning so I can keep my breakfast down.”

“Poor Yuri,” Sara says sweetly. “Tell me, which of the two are you jealous of?”

Yuri drops the wheat stalk to throw a rude gesture, then scoops the cat onto his lap, where she settles in and begins to purr.

“Don’t tease, Sara,” Phichit says. He dumps the last potato into a bowl of water. “The only love little Yuri has in his life is that kitty.” With a shake of his head, Phichit continues, “That cat has never cared one whit about anyone. Why is she suddenly a lamb for this guy?”

Yuri is still prepping his scathing retort when he hears Phichit’s knife clattering to the table. He looks up to both Phichit and Sara bowing deeply in the direction of the stairs. 

Prince Otabek is waiting in the doorway, shifting on his feet as he looks from the musician to the maid and back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” he says. “But, have the two of you seen Yuri?”

The traitorous bastards turn, leveling their accusing fingers right where Yuri is sitting. He’s suddenly very conscious of the fact that he’s perched cross-legged on the dirty kitchen floor and covered in long, white cat hair. He stands, dumping the cat onto the ground. 

She gives him a glare and an indignant flick of her plume tail before slinking back under the table. He’d be more concerned if she weren’t so easily bribed with bacon.

“Hi,” Yuri says, dusting off his trousers. Sara coughs, and Yuri feels his cheeks warm. Right. “Hi, _your highness_ ,” he corrects himself.

The prince’s mouth twitches, his only acknowledgement of the slip. “I’m going for a walk,” he says. “I thought you might like to join me? Victor told me you haven’t been out of the castle much since you arrived, aside from the garden.”

Victor has been talking to Otabek? Victor has been talking to Otabek _about Yuri_?

Otabek is still looking at him, waiting for a reply. Right.

“Sure,” Yuri says. Phichit coughs this time. “I mean, yes? That would be… cool. Your highness.” There’s a soft thump from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a muffled titter. Whatever. It’s not Yuri’s fault he doesn’t understand these damn rules. He’s never needed them before!

Besides, Otabek only looks pleased that Yuri said yes. He doesn’t seem to care what words he uses to say it.

Yuri ignores the others’ sly looks as Otabeks leads him out the back door and through the gardens. The short sword hanging from his belt jostles against Otabek’s thigh as they pick their way amongst the plants, and sunlight flashes off the red and violet gems set in the hilt.

At moments like this, Yuri thinks maybe he _should_ feel self-conscious in the castle, but he never does. Otabek doesn’t really seem like a prince, not like a real one anyway. He’s calm and quiet, and he never seems to flinch, even when Victor screws up at playing human and does shit that makes no sense.

And from the first day, somehow, Otabek has been interested in Yuri - _Yuri_ , who is nothing but a homeless gutter rat, somehow along on this quest with a fucking _unicorn_ and a magician powerful enough to transform that unicorn into a man. No one they’ve met has had the slightest bit of interest in Yuri when he was standing next to _Victor_ , but Otabek did.

They wind their way along the side of the mountain, taking a branching path above the gatehouse that leads away from the village. The small stones of the walkway crumble away beneath their feet to skip down the precipice, dislodged easily from the dusty ground, parched from years of drought. 

Otabek pauses when they reach a ledge, looking out over the horizon, and Yuri can’t hold back his gasp at the view. The sea is _right there_. He’d seen it from the tower, knew in theory that Yakov’s castle was on the coast, but hadn’t grasped how close they really were.

“What is it?” Otabek asks, turning. The wind whips up his cloak to dance on the air, and for a moment he does seem like a prince - noble and distant, more of a portrait in a hall than a person, but then his eyes soften with concern and Yuri brushes the feeling away.

“The ocean,” he explains. “It’s so big, so much water. I’ve heard stories, but I never-”

“You’ve never seen the sea before?” Yuri feels himself flush, caught in his own ignorance, but Otabek’s smile is delighted, not mocking. “If you’d like, we can go closer. The path leads all the way down to the beach.”

“Can we?” Otabek nods, so Yuri doesn’t even have to hesitate or feel self-conscious of his eagerness before they’re off once more, continuing down the narrow trail.

Yuri slips and stumbles a bit. The path is steep and dry, and the ground gives way easily beneath his feet. He should probably be cautious with where he steps, but the rush of the waves is a siren song, calling him down to the sea.

He takes his first steps from the path to the shore and stops. The pale sand is springy and soft beneath his feet, and he sinks into it with each step. Fascinated, he kicks up a small cloud of dust, and Otabek chuckles behind him. 

It’s hard to believe this place has any ties to the gloomy castle above. The sea is calm and blue down here, sparkling in the sun where the waves lick at the white gold grains of the shore. Yuri can see the grey peaks of sharp rocks out in the distance, threatening death for ships that dare too close. Even as danger looms, the water passes harmlessly across the stones, rushing to meet the beach.

Yuri looks up, past the loud, circling sea birds, to the walls of the castle above. From here, that too is gleaming ivory, precariously perched at the top of a too-small ledge. The looming castle, the vast sea, and between the two Yuri is struck with the sensation of being very small and very alone. 

“We used to come down here a lot when I was a boy,” Otabek says, walking past Yuri to stand just outside of the water’s reach. “The King and Queen would bring me down to see the water. We’d walk along the beach like this, and I’d make shapes in the sand.” He snags a crooked stick from the water line and traces out shapes and swirls in the wet sand. Some of them seem familiar - letters, maybe, but Yuri never learned to read well. 

The waves reach out, and Yuri staggers back, flailing to avoid the water even as it washes over Otabek’s boots and erases whatever he’d written.

“What’s wrong?” Otabek asks, but Yuri only shakes his head. He can’t explain what seized him. He doesn’t even have words for the feeling, much less the _why_ of it.

Something Otabek said strikes him like a thief - innocuous, until he thinks on it. “I thought King Yakov never left his castle,” Yuri blurts.

“Not anymore,” Otabek says. He sounds subdued, but he’s still staring down where the waves overtook his work, and Yuri can’t see his face. 

“What changed?”

“The Bull,” Otabek replies. Hefting the stick, he throws it like a javelin, and it flies away, slapping against the water when it lands. He turns back to Yuri. “It was always there to begin with, but it got worse, wilder. Lilia and I could come down here together, but the King would step out on the parapet, and the world would go dark.” 

“After a while, he stopped trying to leave.” He looks up, toward the cliff and the castle. The sky is tranquil and blue as the sea. “Now he sits there, in the mold and the darkness, and waits for his death.”

Yuri kicks the sand again, and watches the fine grains spray up in the air. He’s not sure what to say to that, so he says nothing.

“Come on,” Otabek says, tugging at the sleeve of Yuri’s shirt. “I want to show you something - a place I used to go.” His face is eager and open, and Yuri nods and lets him lead.

They wind their way further down the beach to a rocky outcropping that trails out into the water. Otabek jumps up onto the mottled stones, wobbling as he picks his way across, and Yuri follows with more nimble feet. 

When they near the end, Otabek crouches down. His heavy cloak dips into the sea behind him, but the prince makes no move to rescue it, eyes fixed on something at his feet. Yuri leans closer.

There’s a dip in the stone between them, where water has been trapped. Inside, bright mosses bloom in yellow and green. A little creature with a heavy shell like a snail scuttles out of the pool and over the edge of the rocks, landing with a quiet splash in the greater ocean below. 

Between the plants and stones, a star is caught, pink and exposed. Yuri reaches out to touch it, but Otabek catches his hand before he can stir the water. 

He looks up to find Otabek staring at him, his brow furrowed as he searches Yuri’s face. “I’ve been wanting to ask you,” he says. “The other Yuuri came to the castle to find the Bull. Victor is with him and wants the same. But I can’t figure it out - what are _you_ hunting for here?”

Yuri pulls away slowly and tucks his hands beneath his thighs on the wet rocks. “I don’t know,” he admits, watching the sea star wave languidly in the pool, a hostage to fate. “When we started, I was looking for my father. Now, I’m less sure. I don’t even know what I’d say if I found him anymore.” 

Otabek hums, considering. “You know, I’m not really Yakov’s son.”

Yuri’s been told it's rude to stare frequently, but this seems like an exception. Not Yakov’s son? “Excuse me, _your highness_ ,” he asks. “But what the hell does that mean?”

“I was born in New Feltsgate,” Otabek says. He stirs the water of the pool with his finger, watching as the creatures and plants sway with the current. “My true father was a guardsman here at the castle. I was only a babe when the drought started, and then the plague, and the king and queen had no children.”

Oh. They’re by the sea, being buffeted with spray and wind and salt. Talking about this should be depressing. It should hurt. 

Yuri reaches out, because he needs to, and his fingers graze the thin skin on the back of the prince’s hand. The sun is warm on his back.

-

“I have to go,” Yuuri says for the third time, while wrapping a bit of bread and cheese up with an apple in a spare cloth. “We already wasted too much of the daylight messing around upstairs.”

Over Victor’s shoulder, Sara coughs into her apron. 

“But you said you’d come out to the garden with me today!” Victor lounges on a stool beside the counter, stretching his long legs out until Yuuri has to dodge between them to reach his snack. 

“I know,” Yuuri says, shoulders slumping. “But I lost track of time.” He reaches out and tucks a stray bit of silver back behind an ear, sending the soft buzz of contact radiating down Victor’s spine, and smiles. “And I _still_ can’t braid very well, can I?”

Phichit makes a high-pitched, muffled noise from across the kitchen.

“It’s lovely,” Victor insists. “It looks good. Come outside and pick apples with us.”

Yuuri hesitates, hand lingering at the tip of the silver braid, but shakes his head with obvious reluctance. “I found something new last night, a clue buried in Lilias journals between,” he pauses to laugh. “Between a recipe for some sort of cosmetic and a record of Prince Otabek’s growth, of all things. But it could be a real lead. I need to double-check some things, but maybe, _maybe_ I’ve finally found what we need.”

“Fine. Go back to your books, then,” Victor relents with a wrinkle of his nose. When Yuuri begins to pull away, he reaches out, seizing his arm before he can get too far. “I’ll see you for lunch?”

Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand before pulling away. “Lunch,” he agrees.

As soon as the door swings shut behind him, Sarah sighs. “That’s all I want,” she exclaims to the ceiling. “When is someone going to look at _me_ like that?”

“Maybe when your brother stops holding a pike to the throat of every village boy who so much as tells you good morning,” Phichit says, laughing. “At this rate, you’ll have to move to find one he hasn’t gotten to.”

Sara pulls a face, but, “You’re probably right,” she admits. Wiping her hands on her apron, she throws the pantry door wide to get their baskets for the garden. 

“Besides,” Phichit adds, “If Victor and Yuuri are your standard for romance, then you may be setting the bar too high.”

Puzzled, Victor sits back, letting the flow of their banter pass around him. He’s getting better at human behavior, or at least he thinks so. He kicks things less often. He’s also learning a lot about when its okay to ask questions about something confusing, and when he should wait and ask Yuuri in private.

This feels like one of the in-between points, though. He’s unsure about some of what Sara is saying, not just in the words but the meaning beneath them, but it doesn’t seem important. On a scale from “what is a sneeze?” to “how do I wear pants?”, this can’t be no-pants bad.

Still, he waits. He waits until Phichit leaves and he and Sara are alone, weaving between the rows of stalks in the enchanted garden and searching for the ripest crops. The sun is high in the sky today, and a cool breeze carries from the sea below them and rustles the fragrant leaves. Flyaway hairs dance across the nape of Victor’s neck, and he shivers, turning his back to the cliffs.

He waits, and he thinks that maybe he’ll keep his questions inside until lunch or tonight, or whenever it is that he actually gets to see Yuuri next. That’s the safe route, if he even remembers what he wanted to ask by then.

“You’re quiet today,” Sara says. They’re kneeling in the soft loam, their hands almost touching as they both reach beneath the wide leaves of the strawberry plants in search of the ripe red fruits. “I know you and Yuuri didn’t have a fight. Why the serious face?”

He should brush it off. He thinks he used to be patient, very patient, but that seems hard to imagine these days. Things Sara and Phichit said are buzzing around his mind, nipping at him like horseflies. He tries to take his time, weighing the options for risk and curiosity, but he circles back on repeat to one phrase.

“What did you mean,” he asks, “about wanting someone to look at you in the way Yuuri looks at me?”

Victor knows the answer, or thinks he does, because Yuuri has always looked at him in the same way: with the wonder and rapture that anyone would experience, gazing upon a unicorn. But Sara doesn’t seem like she wants people to see her through a veil of awe or worship. What else is there? What does Sara see?

“Oh!” Sara’s cheeks pink in the same way that Yuuri’s do when Victor surprises him, and she looks away, checking her basket. “I didn’t mean anything by it, really. The two of your are just so adorable, the way you’re always touching and looking at each other... How long have you been together?”

Victor sits back on his heels to think it over. Being immortal, perception of time has never been his forte. He might recall the events of a century ago as if they occurred last season and forget what he did yesterday, but he makes an attempt to remember for Sara.

“We’ve been traveling together for most of a season,” he says at last, mostly satisfied with that answer.

“So things are still new,” Sara exclaims. “That’s wonderful. How did you meet?”

 _An aging caravan. Iron bars. Yuuri steps out of the darkness. “I know you,” he whispers, and his words light a spark of hope. “I see what you really are.”_

But these aren’t things Victor can speak about.

He steps away from the strawberries, down the path to the vegetable patch. The hum of the garden’s magic slides along his skin like a greeting as he passes through its barriers, and the tickling sensation pulls a smile from him. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sara says. “It’s okay if you can’t. I only wanted to know if you started courting right away when you met, or if it took time.” She breaks off on a sigh and adds, “Mickey says I indulge too much in romantic stories, but I don’t get many of them up here.”

The unfamiliar word flies from Sara’s mouth, an arrow stuck fast in Victor’s mind. Before he can stop to consider if this is a question for later, he asks, “‘Courting’? What do you mean by ‘courting’?”

Sara pauses with her hand wrapped around a plump red tomato. “I’m sorry. Are you guys not courting?”

“Well,” Victor begins carefully. He’s on unsteady ground already. Is this one of those pants-level things that a human should know? “If you tell me what it is, then I would know. How am I supposed to tell if we’re courting?”

“Okay.” Sara tucks the tomato into her basket, then folds her arms across her chest, tapping a single finger on her heart. “When people are courting, they spend a lot of time together - and they enjoy it! They give each other gifts and do things for one another for no reason. They touch, and they hold hands, and…”

Victor hadn’t been expecting such a long-winded explanation, but as Sara rambles on he begins to fit together a lot of odd behaviors he’d witnessed from humans in his time. He thinks back on strange moments, people who’d come into his wood not searching for a unicorn, but had twined together in the bowers between the trees, oblivious to the shadow of his passing. 

He also realizes another surprising thing about human behavior: Sara is right. It certainly seems that he and Yuuri are courting.

-

Yuuri groans and thumps his head down onto the book in front of him. 

Nothing. Again, nothing.

Lilia’s note in her journal had lead nowhere at all. No matter how many volumes he searches, he finds himself running in circles. He checks curses and then refers to bulls. That book leads him to another on animal magic, which brings him to bestiaries. The bestiary has a section on cursed animals, and in the end it refers him back to the Compendiary of Cursework.

The serpent of research is once again eating his own tail.

Curses are simply too broad of a topic on their own. There are curses brought about by malevolent witches and ones created by nature itself. There are curses that begin at birth, others that are laid when the cursed person commits a terrible act, and still another set that might be stumbled into by accident. Yuuri finds curses that can be broken with a kiss or a simple apology, more which require selfless acts and grand gestures, and far too many that end only with the death of the afflicted person.

Cross-referencing the form of this curse gets Yuuri precisely nowhere in his research, and then there’s the question of the unicorns. In all his digging, he found a single mention of curse being placed on someone who _murdered_ a unicorn. Even reading about the brutal act had turned Yuuri’s stomach, and he’d been forced to break from his studies and pace the library to cool his head. 

Yuuri doesn’t trust Yakov. He’s skeptical of the king’s intentions, but he can’t imagine the man would be capable of something like _that_.

He pushes his spectacles up to the top of his head to rub at his eyes. He’s hit a wall, and there’s only one way to push past it.

He needs more information, and the only people who can answer his questions are Lilia - not available, and also terrifying - and Yakov himself.

Tucking his glasses into the lacings of his shirt, Yuuri stands and closes the book. He runs his hands through his hair and takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. Yakov is a king, yes, but he’s also a man in danger. Yuuri may only be a second-rate trainee magician, but he’s the only chance Yakov _has_ right now.

Before he can question himself again, Yuuri walks out of the library. He turns down the hall, blocking out the looming portraits of Feltsman relatives long since passed, and, without pausing to knock, he throws open the heavy door to Yakov’s study.

The old man jumps in his armchair, roused from a nap, and a familiar thunderous look begins to build in the wrinkles around his eyes. Yuuri makes a silencing gesture with his hand, and all the candles in the room wink out, leaving them in only the dim grey light that peeks through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains. 

“King Yakov,” Yuuri says, pushing through the tremble in his own voice. “If I’m going to have any hope here at all, then I need you to tell me more. What exactly is this curse? Who cast it? And, most important of all, _what the hell does this have to do with the unicorns_?”


	12. The Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are answered, and a window opens into a new world.

_“That sense of loss grew within the humans who had been left behind, left to live without unicorns. Even the ones who had never seen a unicorn, never heard of a unicorn, felt the passing of something sweet and wonderful. It was as if the air had surrendered a bit of its spice, the water a bit of its sparkle, the night a bit of its mystery.”_  
― Dark Whispers, Bruce Coville 

King Yakov watches Yuuri from his chair, unblinking, as the smoke from the extinguished candles curls around them. The silence stretches on until Yuuri’s mood shifts from determined to awkward. He crosses his arms over his chest and rubs at the worn, frayed ends of his shirt sleeves.

“Please,” he says at last. “I’ve exhausted myself with the information I have now. Neither of us has any hope if you don’t give me more to work with.” 

With a heavy sigh, the old man rises from his chair and walks to the window, pulling back the curtain to look down at the land below. The soft sunlight catches in what’s left of his hair and throws shadows into the deep lines on his face.

“I admire your fire,” he says. “She had it too, my Lilia. She always believed I could be saved.” He drops the heavy velvet back over the window, sealing them into the castle’s darkness again. “I could never share her faith.”

He stops, and Yuuri thinks this room might be where his quest comes to die. Then, Yakov adds, “I’ll give you what I can.”

“Who laid the curse?” Yuuri repeats. “And why?”

The king shakes his head. “My understanding of that is limited. The bull has always walked beside me. It is my shadow.” He turns to a squat bookshelf and pulls out a dark, leather-bound tome. From between the pages, he takes a single sheet of parchment, passing it to Yuuri.

It’s a birth announcement. Faded brown script reads _Prince Yakov Feltsman_ below a sketch of a round-faced infant. Some of the words have been worn away by decades of fingerprints, but Yuuri can still make out enough to get the jist - an invitation, the Happy Couple, a birthday ceremony.

“For the party, my parents hired a witch - a famous prophetess. By all accounts, she walked up to my cradle, looked inside, and immediately began screaming.” 

“ _Darkness,_ she said. _The great cloud approaches. He tramples the earth. He grinds the land to dust beneath his feet._ It’s all recorded somewhere in here.” He hands Yuuri the book as well, and its weight settles in his arms comfortably.

“My parents thought the witch meant me. They spent the first few years of my life looking to prevent me from becoming this dark cloud any way they could.” Yakov’s shoulders slump. He looks less like a king and more like an exhausted old man, worn down by worry. 

“Not sure of the specifics. Something they did had the opposite effect. Retribution. I was barely in my first short pants when the bull appeared.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, then pauses to chew his lip as he thinks. Not knowing the caster is not a good start. A great deal of magic is tied to the magician’s life force, and without this, Yuuri still has no idea of the exact cause of the curse, or whether the creator is even still alive. He does some bad math in his head. “That must have been fifty years ago,” he says. “But the effects on the land, those are more recent, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Yakov says, expression deadpan. “It got worse with time. As a boy, I could go seasons or even years without a single sighting of the beast. I had a normal life most days. I learned archery, went hunting, met a girl…” His voice trails off, breaking at the end.

“Lilia was always brave,” he says. “Spine like an iron rod, that one. _I won’t let this creature run our lives_ , she’d say. But it did. It changed everything.”

A germ of an idea takes root in Yuuri, and before he can question it, he blurts out the thought. “Lilia became a witch because of you.”

“Yes,” Yakov sighs. He puts his hand on the bookshelf, leaning on it as if the sturdy wood is strong enough to take the weight of the world from him. “She began to study, then to learn the magic herself, all in hope of a cure. But, as she learned, the dark cloud that followed me only grew blacker.”

“She tracked down the prophetess,” he adds. It’s not surprising. It’s what Yuuri would have done next too. “That’s where she learned about the unicorn.”

Ah. Now they were truly beginning to untangle the threads. 

“Which unicorn?” Yuuri prompts him. 

“The old witch told her something that never made it into the record of the prophecy. _The darkness can only be pierced by the horn of a unicorn._ So, Lilia went looking.”

“There were rumors a unicorn’s forest grew near a village just south of the mountain, less than a day’s journey. We went together.” He pauses, closes his eyes as if replaying the day on his eyelids. “When we arrived, so did the Bull.”

Yuuri can picture it already in his mind, a tableau he’s seen himself - the dainty but shining shape of the unicorn stands frozen opposite the lumbering bulk of the dark Bull. He wasn’t there to see the beat by beat of the fight itself, but standing here today, searching for a cure to this curse, he knows how it must have ended.

But, not exactly.

So he asks, even as he dreads the answer, “What happened to the unicorn?”

In answer, Yakov pushes away from the wall and staggers back to the window. He pulls back the heavy velvet curtains and unlatches a knob on the pane of glass, then opens the door out to a stone balcony. The breeze rushes in to greet them, stirring small sounds around the room and carrying up the scent of salt and sea.

“The unicorn fought valiantly, but he tired. The Bull pushed him, drove him, shaking his black horns at the creature each time it tried to turn or flag. We followed. I held the reins to Lilia’s pony in one hand as she rifled through the books in her saddlebags, searching for some way to end the thing well.” 

“It ended here.”

He holds back the curtain and gestures to the balcony. Yuuri steps forward, hesitant. The stones that line the terrace are crumbling around the edges, compromised by the stark brown thorns of dead roses. He half expects the whole thing to collapse beneath his weight, but it holds as he walks out to peer over the edge of the wall. Bits of rock slip away from his fingers, tumbling through the air to vanish against the sea below.

“We lead it to the first one,” Yakov says, his voice barely carrying over the wind and the distant roar of the waves. “But the Bull found the rest on its own. Do you see?”

Yuuri scans the jagged cliffs below the castle, then the shoreline below that. Two figures wander along the sand at the water’s edge, tiny insects scurrying along the beach so far beneath the castle’s ivory towers. 

“What am I looking for?” Yuuri asks, but even as the words leave his lips, he sees the first of them. 

He can’t be certain what caught his attention - did the sun glint off the silver hooves, or was it the mane tossed back, a little too bright to be sea foam? Did the pearlescent horn rise first, triggering something inside Yuuri, some instinct that nipped at his neck and whispered for him to look again?

Far from the shore, the wave crests, and one becomes a dozen, then more. The unicorns spill forth from the ocean, crashing together, arched necks shivering and throwing sparkling spray from their hides. They tumble together, high in the air, reaching, and then crash down, caught in the rise and fall of the sea.

Rocks skip down the side of the balcony, clattering off the stone below as Yuuri’s hands tighten on the wall. “It’s not possible,” he breathes.

“One by one,” Yakov intones, hopelessness threaded through his voice, “It drove them here, and then out, out into the sea. They live there now, all of them. They’re too afraid of the Bull to ever reach for the shore.”

A metallic _clang_ cuts through their words, and Yuuri spins around. In the center of the study, Victor stands frozen with his mouth open and hands outstretched. At his feet, a silver service tray spins and gradually settles among the broken dishes and smashed remnants of what was once lunch.

The deep blue of the waves outside is reflected in Victor’s eyes.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasps, stepping toward him. Before he can reach, Victor’s arms drop, and he turns, fleeing the room. Yuuri drops the book he’s holding to the floor and races after him.

In their wake, King Yakov still stands at the window, staring down at the sea. He lets go of the curtain and moves to the threshold of the balcony, gripping the doorway with both hands.

Slowly, so slowly, he raises one foot and steps out, caught halfway between the warmth of the study and the siren song of the sea birds wheeling above. He shifts his weight forward, letting the sea breeze wash over his face and soothe the lines from his brow. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them, the clouds above him are dark. In the distance, there’s the rumbling beat of enormous hooves. 

Yakov steps back inside. He latches the door and pulls the curtains tightly closed. 

-

“Victor!” Yuuri calls out, letting the door to the study slam shut behind him. Victor is already at the end of the hall, his trailing silver plait vanishing around the corner as Yuuri dashes after him.

He catches up to Victor at the edge of the front staircase, and his heart thuds painfully in his chest as he realizes Victor is running to _the sea_.

“Victor, wait!” He shouts, and the words echo off the walls of the empty hall around them. High above, there’s a sound of beating wings as something sleeping in the rafters rouses.

Victor spins, poised on the top of the stairs. His cheeks are flushed, and his hands clench at his side. “That’s not my name,” he spits, and then his voice cracks, jagged as glass as he asks, “Is it?”

Yuuri steps forward, then stops, caught and unsure. “What do you mean? You know it’s not. Not really.”

“Are you certain?” Victor asks, “How can you be so sure?”

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks, ignoring the questions. 

His emotions are divided, rejoicing even as he worries at the desperation in Victor’s voice. This moment was supposed to be a happy one. “We found them. We found them, Victor! We know what happened now. Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting this whole time - to find the other unicorns?”

“Was that what I wanted?” Victor looks down, his face falling into shadow, and Yuuri can’t read his expression any more. His speaks softly, wrapping his arms around his chest. “I think you’re right, but... I don’t remember it.”

“Victor?” Yuuri doesn’t know what to say. This isn’t what he expected to happen at all. He reaches out, seeking that spark of connection they’ve always had, and Victor jerks away from his hand, balancing all too close to the edge of the stair.

“Stop calling me that if it’s not my name!” Victor snaps. 

Yuuri lets his hand fall, and he says nothing as Victor’s words bounce off the ceiling and slowly drift to the floor all around them.

“I had forgotten,” Victor says softly, breaking the silence. “Or, I have been forgetting, sometimes. I get caught up in being a human, and it slips away from me. Until I saw them there in the sea, I think I had forgotten that I was ever a unicorn.”

The old castle halls are huge and drafty. No one stokes fires in this part of the building. It does nothing to explain how quickly Yuuri goes cold at those words.

“Forgotten?” he echoes, his voice shaking. “What do you mean, ‘forgotten’? It’s who you are.”

“Is it? Is it still?” Victor shakes his head. “That version of me is ancient, Yuuri. What does it have to do with who I am now?” 

He pauses, licking his lips, then continues, “There’s a curtain keeping me apart from who I was before we met. When I touch it, all I can remember is sorrow.” When Victor looks at him, Yuuri sees towering forests rise and fall in the blue of his eyes. “Why was I so sad?” He asks, quiet and plaintive. “Do you know, Yuuri?”

It’s too much. Yuuri can’t just let Victor stand there, alone and upset. He rushes forward and reaches out, feeling the warmth of Victor’s skin settle beneath his palms. He can’t quite bring himself to _hug_ a unicorn, but he can’t stop himself from trying to offer comfort, so he simply stands close and touches Victor where he can.

It’s Victor who steps forward again, who turns the gentle touch into an embrace, and Yuuri feels his heart begin to race, its wings beating as it prepares to escape his chest. The gentle bubbling of contact feels like a rush of whitewater when they’re this close. 

Victor lowers his head, and Yuuri moves his hands to the unicorn’s slim waist, expecting Victor to rest his head on Yuuri’s shoulder.

Instead, Victor turns, and their lips meet.

The kiss is chaste, but it’s definitely a kiss. Victor’s mouth is firm against his own, determination covered by plush, sweet lips. Victor makes a soft noise - surprise, pleasure, and his eyes flutter closed. 

Yuuri knows all of this, because his own eyes feel ready to pop out of his head. His fingertips press into the small of Victor’s back as he watches the silver wings of Victor’s long eyelashes fall to grace the high plains of his cheek. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.

It shouldn’t be happening.

Somehow, Yuuri manages to wrench himself away. He staggers back, hands still out ahead of him as if they reach for Victor without his permission. 

Victor’s eyes open again, and they’re not forests now, but the sea - untamed, hypnotic. “Was that wrong?” he asks. “I did it just like Sara said.” A slow smile pulls at the corners of his pink mouth, and the tip of his tongue slips out to taste the kiss. “She was right. It’s nice.”

Yuuri can’t. He can’t do this. He wants nothing more than to lean forward, back into Victor’s arms, but even as his weight shifts, drawn toward the unicorn as he always is, his mind cries out. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The smile fades from Victor’s face. “Yuuri?” he asks, hesitant.

“I-” Yuuri stutters. Stops. The rest comes out in a rush. “I need to think about this. I’m sorry.” He goes, not to Victor, but past him, throwing himself away from the pull of his own skin and all its hunger.

His toes barely touch the steps as he runs down through the echoing hall and pushes out through the double doors to the castle courtyard.

He doesn’t have a plan, only a desperate need for fresh air and quiet. He strides to the edge of the yard, avoiding the stones that protrude from the path to catch inattentive toes, and pushes through the tangled brown vines at the border. 

From the rocks here, he can see the shore and the ocean stretch out before him until the sea and sky merge into a great blue singularity. He doesn’t search for the unicorns among the waves. He doesn’t want to see them right now.

Yuuri closes his eyes and focuses on the distant sound of the waves, the smell of the salt breeze, and the cry of the birds wheeling overhead. If he doesn’t look, he can convince himself it’s another, far away shore. He can almost hear his Mama calling him home for dinner.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” A familiar voice shouts. It’s definitely not his mother.

Yuuri turns around to find Yuri standing at the top of the path to the courtyard, hands balled into fists at his sides as he glares at Yuuri. Prince Otabek is beside him, a look of faint surprise on his face. 

Stepping back from the ledge, Yuuri sketches a distracted half-bow to the prince. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” he says, trying to keep his tone light.

Yuri’s eyes narrow to green slits. His ruse isn’t working. Yuuri’s insides are knotted up, tangled in such a way that he doesn’t know where each strand ends and the next begins. If he pulls any of them right now, he’ll unravel. If his outsides look even half as destroyed as he feels, it must be obvious.

“What’s wrong?” Yuri demands. “What did you do?”

Tossing a desperate, pleading glance toward the prince, Yuuri looks for a way out of the conversation. Otabek won’t meet his eyes. It’s just Yuuri, Yuri, and the sheer face of the cliff. The cliff looks more tempting with each passing moment. Yuuri already turned a unicorn into a man. Maybe he could turn himself into a bird and leave all this behind.

Yuuri tries Otabek again, but the prince just raises his hands, shakes his head, and walks off toward the castle, leaving them to sort things out among themselves.

As the castle doors settle back together with a quiet thump, Yuuri turns back to find Yuri chewing his lip. Caught, he stops, settling his face back into its usual glare.

It’s too late. Yuuri saw genuine worry there. 

He takes a deep breath and tries to release the tension in his shoulders.

“I had a fight with Victor,” he says. His fingers graze his bottom lip, and he drops his hand back down. He shouldn’t think about that. “I guess you might call it a fight. Yakov showed me where the unicorns are being kept - alive,” he adds quickly, seeing Yuri tense. “Victor saw. He was upset.”

“Do you know how to free them now?”

Yuuri shakes his head and watches the boy droop. 

“Victor-” Yuuri continues, then stops, hesitating over the story. The moment is still fresh - the ghost fire of Victor’s fingertips pressed against his ribs, Victor’s skin warm beneath his hand, and the burbling stream that became a river and then a waterfall as their lips met.

But Yuri is their friend. They’re all together in this, though they didn’t choose one another initially. He needs to know - to some extent - what’s happened.

Yuuri opens his mouth, but can’t force the words out.

Yuri’s gone pale, watching Yuuri try to speak. “He’s forgetting, isn’t he,” he says quietly. It’s not a question. He knows.

Yuuri nods.

Fists clenched at his sides, Yuri begins to shake. He looks away, hiding his expression behind the fall of straw-colored hair. “You idiot,” he mutters. “I warned you.”

“I warned you!” He turns, leveling an accusing finger at Yuuri. His hand trembles in the air. “This is _exactly_ what happened with Dimitri. You said you’d watch out for him! You said you’d be careful!” 

Yuri’s voice breaks over the words, screeching high and terribly young.

“I know,” Yuuri says. He steps forward, but Yuri steps back just as quickly, staying out of reach. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I… didn’t notice.”

That’s a lie. He knows why he didn’t notice. The way he’d buried himself in the research was half the problem. The other half was the way he’d buried his hands in Victor’s hair each morning and ignored it. 

He _had_ noticed Victor becoming more cheerful, affectionate, even calm in a way that had nothing to do with the aloof removal of the unicorn. He’d told himself that Victor simply liked the castle and that company. He had been lonely. He was beginning to settle into his skin here.

But settling into a skin that wasn’t his own was precisely the type of warning Yuuri should have been looking for. Given ready access to Victor and his increasingly frequent smiles, Yuuri hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what they meant.

“What good are all your stupid books and magic if you can’t protect him?” Yuri spits. “And now it’s too late, and he’s going to end up- He’s going to-” He can’t finish the sentence.

Yuuri keeps his distance from the boy, trying to digest the rocks in his stomach. 

“When Dimitri forgot,” Yuri says, quiet, his eyes downcast. “Mama said he got lost. He lost… who he was. He lost us, too. He got sad, listless. He wandered off. One day, he just left.” 

He looks up, his eyes like green glass beneath a fringe of gold. “He never came back.”

“I won’t let it happen,” Yuuri says.

Yuri only scoffs at the promise. Yuuri deserves that. He’d already promised once before, and here they are. 

“It’s true,” Yuuri swears again anyway. “I’ve been looking for information about the Bull, for an end to the curse, but,” he pauses to shake his head. “I won’t do that anymore. Even if it means we don’t defeat the Bull, I can focus on Victor now. I can change him back-”

“And then what?” Yuri cuts him off. “You make him a unicorn again, and the Bull takes him too?”

Yuuri closes his eyes. He can hear the waves crashing against the rocks far below. Unbidden, his mind throws images at him - Victor, alone on the beach; Victor, straining his neck to stay afloat among the others, tossed against the cliffs by the unforgiving sea.

But where is the alternative? On one hand, Victor forgets who he truly is forever. He becomes fully human, suffers, and someday dies. Unicorns are lost to the world forever. On the other hand, Yuuri finds a way to change him back. Yuuri loses him, and worse, he risks Victor being taken by the Bull as well, cast into the ocean like flotsam on the waves.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri admits. They’re hard words to say, but true, and in truth there is always magic. 

Across from him, Yuri’s shoulders slump, some of the anger leaving him at last. He drops onto a nearby rock and begins to tear at the dead roses, heedless of the thorns on his bare skin. “Well,” he says. “You better start figuring it out, then, Magician.”

It’s a dismissal if Yuuri has ever heard one. He takes the out, ascending the steps back to the castle. 

He half expects to find Victor when he opens the door, still paused at the top of the stairs and waiting for Yuuri’s return, but the hall is empty and open, and the only sound in the room is the whistle of wind pushing through a crack in one of the windows. 

Yuuri walks on eggshells through the corridors of the castle, alert always for the sound of a footstep on the stones or the shimmer of silver hair. At first, the fact that he sees no sign of Victor is a relief, but then it becomes a worry.

Where would Victor have gone? Yuuri hadn’t meant to upset him. Of course, a unicorn isn’t like a human. Yuuri stops in the hall to take a few deep breaths, reminding himself of that. Even in a human form, Victor can’t quite feel things the way a human would. He can’t feel regret, or love. He can’t weep. 

At least, Yuuri hopes he still can’t.

He pushes through the concern. Victor is probably back in the kitchens with Sara, or up in the tower, making music with Phichit. He may have already forgotten anything even happened with Yuuri. It’s not worth worrying over. Yuuri needs to focus on his goal - returning Victor to his true form, no matter what he has to give up to succeed.

The library closes in around him as he pushes the double doors closed behind him. For good measure, he twists the latch, listening as the bar clicks into place. The sound reminds the snap of a bear trap. No interruptions. 

Forests of bookshelves line the room and tower over him, accusing. He’s spent so much time in here already, excavated so many of the shelves and left open books scattered across the floor like half-eaten carcasses. And yet there are so many other volumes left to check, and so many answers he still needs to find.

It’s too much. He indulges in a brief fantasy. He’s high on a ladder when one of the bookcases falls forward, crushing him, and frees him from the work. 

Overhead, Lilia’s portrait glares down the end of her petite nose at him. If she were here in person, she’d lecture him for shirking, among other things.

If she were here in person, he wouldn’t have to do this alone. 

But, he reminds himself, he _is_ alone. And he’s not Madame - no, _Queen_ Baranovskaya. He’s only Yuuri, who is much better at books and research than he is at magic. There are unicorns in need of saving, not just one, and this is the only thing that Yuuri can do about it. 

He’ll do his best.

He walks over to the shelves and begins to search. He can start in T for _Transformation_.


	13. The Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're doomed.

_“You must remind me, little one. When I... when I lose myself - when I lose her - you must remind me that I am still searching, still waiting... that I have never forgotten her, never turned from all she taught me. I sit in this place... I sit... because a king has to sit, you see... but in my mind, in my poor mind, I am always away with her....”_  
― Two Hearts, Peter S. Beagle

Victor wakes to the cry of the sea birds and the warm spill of sunlight through the pointed window of his bedroom. It highlights the peaks and valleys in the pile of blankets on his bed and turns the dark room golden. He stretches out, letting the warmth seep into his skin, and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. 

He’s still here, still in Yakov’s castle, and Yuuri’s been gone for three days.

The last branch of thought is the most important, and it pushes him up. He slides to the edge of the mattress until his feet find the cool stone floor, and he rises, dressing quickly as possible. He’s still clumsy with the buttons and ties, but he’s improving. Will Yuuri notice, when he returns? Will he be pleased that Victor has learned new tricks in his absence?

Victor pulls on his boots and begins his daily routine. His footsteps echo in the empty hall as he makes the familiar journey to the oaken door of Yuuri’s bedroom. He steels himself, breathes deep, and knocks. The hollow sound in the silence recasts his fist as a battering ram breaching the castle.

There’s no response. There hasn’t been on any of the last three mornings. Still, there’s never harm in trying, aside from disappointment. One of these nights he’ll wake to find Yuuri left the library, returning to his room in the night. Maybe the next time Victor knocks, the door will swing open beneath his hand.

He turns and walks through the hall in the other direction, then stops to tap on Yuri’s door.

It creaks open to reveal the youth, straw-haired, mussed, and squinting out at him. “Still nothing?” he grumbles. Victor shakes his head. Yuri shuts the door in his face.

When it unlatches again a few minutes later, Yuri is fully dressed and has his hair combed back into a neat little ponytail. Side by side, they return to Victor’s bedroom.

Victor sinks into the chair and tilts his head back as Yuri retrieves the brush. He probably could have learned to do this for himself as well, but the simple fact is that he enjoys it too much. The sensation of someone else combing through his hair and portioning off the strands is too relaxing to let slip by. Of course, the experience is less relaxing when Yuri’s the one wielding the brush, even though he’s more skilled.

For example, when Victor’s eyes meet Yuri’s in the mirror and he asks, “Do you have any plans with Otabek for today yet?” Yuri’s brush unerringly finds a knot and _pulls_.

“None of your business,” Yuri snaps, dragging the brush down with a sharp twist. He stops when Victor visibly winces, though, putting the brush aside to pick the tangle apart with his fingers. “When did you get so nosy?”

Victor shrugs as Yuri picks out the last of the knot and resettles his hair over his shoulders. He’s about to respond when Yuri’s hand stops, his fingers pressed warm against nape of Victor’s neck. In the mirror, his eyes are clouded and pensive. His lips always quirk downward when he thinks.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Yuri’s eyes fall closed as he focuses, a line of thought appearing between his brows. Victor stills beneath his hand, holding his breath as Yuri goes quiet. His lungs are beginning to burn when Yuri opens his eyes again, and his touch falls away. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, mouth twisting. “You act nothing like him, but lately you remind me of Yuuri all the time. For a minute, I thought- ” He breaks off, then shakes his head. “You just remind me of Yuuri.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult.

“How long do you think he’ll stay away?”

“Not long, I hope,” Yuri mutters, and resettles his hands in Victor’s hair. Although they don’t speak again, his fingers work away steadily, weaving dreams and promises between the silver strands.

When he’s finished, they go downstairs together. Sara is busy as every morning, bustling about the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the whole castle. She’s getting no help whatsoever from her brother today, as Michele lounges against the counter by the garden door with his helm tucked under one arm, watching.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Sara turns, clutching her apron in flour-coated hands. When she sees Victor and Yuri alone, the hope in her eyes wilts. “Still nothing?” she asks. Yuri shakes his head and then drops to the floor, chirping softly to lure the cat out from her hiding spot.

Grabbing a towel, Sara wipes most of the flour from her fingers, then begins to hunt through the cabinets, clattering pots and pans against one another as she searches. With a muffled sound of triumph, she pulls a silver tray from the back. 

“If you really want the magician to come out of the library, you should try _not_ feeding him for a day,” Michele suggests. Sara glares at him, and he shrugs. “What? I’m just saying, either he comes out for food, or he starves.” His tone makes it sound like each outcome is equally acceptable. 

“Don’t you have a guard post to get back to?” Sara turns her back on her brother, ignoring him as she sets about preparing breakfast for one on the tray. 

“I can’t just leave you here with _them_.”

Sara rolls her eyes where only Victor can see and turns to swat at her brother’s arm, heedless of the steel pauldrons on his shoulders. “Go on,” she chides. “You aren’t being paid salary to protect my virtue.”

“Not much left to guard anyway,” Yuri mutters under his breath, too quiet for Mickey’s ears to catch.

With a sigh of resignation, Michele puts his helmet on and gathers up the food Sara had packed for Emil, then sets off through the garden door to return to his duties. 

Sara pulls an apple from a basket and places it on the silver tray with a flourish of her wrist. She sets her hands on her hips. “There. Victor, are you going to take the tray up today?”

“Yes.” Victor steps forward with a smile that doesn’t stretch beyond his lips. He looks a little pale, but his hands are steady as he picks up the tray. 

“When you get back, we’ll go out to the garden again, okay?” Victor nods, but he’s still too solemn, as if the silver breakfast tray is a heavier burden than he can bear alone.

Sara waits until Victor is up the stairs, out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, before she turns to Yuri. “I still can’t believe he’s sick,” she says. “He seems so full of life most of the time.”

Yuri stands up and resettles onto a stool, and the cat leaps up to perch on his lap, curling into an infinity of fur. “Oh, he’s sick alright. Very sick.” Yuri’s eyes are still focused on the stairs, watching the movement of shadows on the wall. “And right now, Yuuri is the only hope we’ve got for a cure.” 

-

Yuuri scans the cramped script on the page in front of him, then he reads it again. The words are familiar now, as is the sensation of perpetual squinting as the curvature of the vowels starts to bend and blur. His eyes hurt, and there’s the seed of a headache taking root in his brow. As he shoves the book across the table and raises his head, the air swims and ripples around him.

This light-headedness is also an old friend. It’s been four long days that he’s been locked inside the library now - catching naps here and there in the dusty chairs or sprawled over whatever book he passes out on, eating only the cold soup and dry bread someone has been leaving outside the double doors. 

The second day, there had been a lot of knocking and voices calling his name, but, judging by the bright light now streaming through the dirty windows, it’s been well over a day since he last heard anyone try the door. 

His stomach gurgles at him, demanding acknowledgement. 

It’s time to admit he’s hit an impasse. Days of work lie behind him with little progress, and he’s read the page in front of him at least three times without understanding a word. He’s hit his limit, and he won’t get anywhere without a proper rest and some real food. He marks his page, then lets the heavy book fall closed.

When he stands, the world lists to one side, fuzz closing in from the edges of his vision, and he pauses with one hand on the smooth surface of the table to keep himself upright. After a couple breaths, the darkness clears, and the room goes back to normal.

The click as he unlatches the door seems to echo through the silent corridors, but when he pokes his head out there’s no movement but the floating wisps of cobwebs caught in a gust of air. There’s a discarded silver tray on the stones outside the door, as usual, with a few sandwiches and some fruit. 

Yuuri grabs one of the apples, biting into it and holding it between his teeth as he stoops to pick up the tray to return to the kitchen. Sticky-sweet juice fills his mouth. He knows it’s not enough on its own, but it makes him feel stronger already, steady on his feet as he navigates the dead silence of the halls and finds his way to the kitchen stairs.

From the top step, Yuuri can already hear the murmur of familiar voices and the clatter of dishes and pots as others rummage around the kitchen. He finds himself smiling a little despite the apprehension that’s coiling in his stomach as he hears the distinctive snap of Yuri’s voice.

As soon as he steps into the room, the conversation stops. 

Sara sees him first, facing the doorway as she stands at the table, chopping vegetables. A bulbous iron pot hangs over the fire, not yet hot enough to boil. She stops what she’s doing, knife hovering over the boards, and her eyebrows shoot to her hairline.

Yuri has his back to the door, but when he sees Sara’s face, he turns. He looks the same as ever, if a little cleaner than he’d been on the road, as he absently strokes the cat curled on his lap. 

Yuuri knows he was only in the library a few days, but it felt like he’d fallen into one of those legendary spells, sleeping for a thousand years. Part of him had expected to come out and find Yuri gone grey and bald as Yakov.

Green eyes slitted, Yuri’s mouth twists with displeasure. “You look like shit,” he says.

“Yuri,” Sara says, scolding, as she puts down the knife.

Yuuri crosses the room to place the tea tray on the table beside them, then pulls the apple from his mouth. “It’s okay,” he says. “I pretty much feel like shit, too.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but thank god you’re back,” Yuri says. He pets the cat harder, and she raises her butt in the air, luxuriating in the attention. 

Yuuri’s heart sinks. “Why? What’s wrong? Where’s Victor?”

Sara raises her hands, trying to calm the flow of questions. “Victor is fine. Everyone is just fine. We were only worried about you.”

Yuri mutters a response to that under his breath, in words that Yuuri can’t quite capture. 

“Can you fix him?” he adds at normal volume. “Did you find the answer yet?”

Yuuri gnaws at his lower lip as he considers the answer to that question and how much of it he’s ready to tell Yuri. “Not exactly,” he says at last. “I’ve found some options, but I’m still looking.”

The corners of Yuri’s mouth turn just slightly. His shoulders droop. He doesn’t seem all that upset, though. Maybe he just didn’t expect much of Yuuri tp begin with.

“Has Victor been depressed? Has he lost any more memories, or started to wander?” In the library, Yuuri’s mind had circled back to these questions often, interrupting his studies and pulling him out of the research. With each day he spent trying to undo the spell on Victor, more thoughts intruded, wondering if he’d come out with a solution only to find the unicorn beyond saving.

“He’s been fucking obnoxious is what he’s been,” Yuri snaps. “I don’t know what the hell happened with you two before you left, but he won’t leave me alone when you’re not around, and he doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.”

Sara sighs, hands on her hips as she prepares to weigh in, but then another voice calls Yuri’s name down the kitchen steps. The boy stands, unceremoniously dumping the cat onto the floor. “Gotta go,” he mutters. “I told Otabek I’d- well, we have plans!”

He runs for the stairs with flushed cheeks, departing without another word. 

Sara shakes her head. “Don’t listen to Yuri too much,” she says. “Victor’s taken to teasing him about Otabek, and it drives Yuri mad. Other than that, he’s been fine. He’s a great help, actually. The castle is tidier than it’s been in a decade with him helping out.”

“He’s been happy, then?” Yuuri isn’t sure how he feels about that, if he’s being honest. He’d worried the effects of the spell would deteriorate Victor’s mood, or that the unicorn would be a mess after Yuuri disappeared into his books. He’s both relieved to hear that hasn’t happened and strangely disappointed.

But, of course Victor hadn’t been effected. What had happened on the stairs that day - what Victor had done and said - it was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe, without Yuuri around, his head had cleared.

Maybe he’d forgotten about Yuuri already.

Sara purses her lips, as she always does when she’s thinking. “Not happy, exactly,” she says. “More like he was trying to be. Yuri was right that he’s been a bit more talkative while you were gone, but… sometimes, in the quiet moments, you could see that something was different.” 

She shakes her head as if trying to knock something loose and replaces her pensive look with a smile. “But if you were worried about him, there’s no need. I’ve been keeping him too busy to mope.”

Yuuri smiles back. Of course, Victor had plenty of other people to take care of him. He didn’t need Yuuri for that. “Where is he now?”

“In the garden, as always. In fact, I should probably go join him.” She pulls a basket from the shelves on the wall and settles it against the curve of her hip, then stops to look back at Yuuri. “Coming?”

Yuuri makes himself nod before the nerves can stop him. They arrive on cue, as soon as Sara turns to open the door. He’s not sure what kind of reaction Victor will have to him now, and every prospect is terrifying.

He follows Sara into the garden. Outside, the weather is calm. The sun is bright today, and he can hear the distant rush of the ocean beneath the birdsong. There’s also a strange humming, fluid but out of tune, coming from behind a high wall of sunflower stalks. 

 

In the library, he thought of Victor often. When he wasn’t researching, his mind circled back to Victor - Victor the unicorn, caged and alone, Victor with his head in Yuuri’s lap, Victor the human in New Feltsgate, twirling to display his beautiful clothes.

When Yuuri slept, fitful and stiff, sprawled on the big oak table, he dreamed of Victor. Sometimes, it was pleasant and relaxing as the Victor in his head smiled like the sun at Yuuri, speaking words that Yuuri could never admit to while he was awake. 

Other times, too often, he dreamed of the Bull too, and its shadow grew until it blotted out all light from the world, and Victor, helpless, fell beneath its hooves.

He always woke from those sweating and gave up on sleep after. Instead, he’d light the lamp with a snap of his fingers, returning to work. 

Yuri had asked how he planned to fix Victor, and Yuuri wasn’t able to give him an answer. In truth, in all his digging, he’s found only one possibility for a cure. In order to return Victor to his true form, he has to want to - well and truly _desire_ the unicorn’s return with all his heart. Unless Yuuri can manage that, Victor will be trapped, caged by human flesh until the day Yuuri dies - assuming the Bull doesn’t kill Victor first.

More than anything, Yuuri wants Victor to be safe, but deep inside? Inside, Yuuri is weak. He wants Victor to be happy. He wants Victor to be _his_.

The humming rises in pitch, drawing closer, and Yuuri holds his breath as Victor steps out from behind the plants. His silver hair is pulled back from his face with a smattering of thin braids, far more intricate than Yuuri’s fingers could manage. He has a yellow squash blossom woven in where the strands meet in the back. His cheeks are rosy when he smiles at Sara.

Then, he sees Yuuri standing behind her.

Victor gasps and his basket goes tumbling. Apples and tomatoes escape in a cascade, rolling over the rock soil their way to freedom. Victor runs for Yuuri, leaping over the rows of plants between them, but then slows. His last few steps are hesitant, careful, and he stops just out of arm’s reach. His blue eyes are creased by worry even as he gives Yuuri a weak smile. 

“Welcome back,” he says. “I missed you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yuuri blurts. When Victor winces, his heart shatters. 

“Yuuri!” Sara scolds him, an echo of the tone she’d deployed on Yuri in the kitchens, like she’s correcting a naughty child. 

He hadn’t meant it that way. It’s only that he knows it’s not possible. Nothing immortal can become so attached to a human - the pain would be too great, and nature wouldn’t allow it.

But, with Sara watching, he can’t possibly explain. Instead, he says, “I missed you too,” and his voice cracks under the weight of honesty.

Victor beams, the sun catching in his hair and showering sparks of light all around them. 

They’re doomed already. Yuuri wants to grab Victor’s hand and run - leave the castle, flee into the woods, and forget about unicorns and curses and starving villages. He could do it. He could.

He can’t.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, one eye on Sara as she watches them, failing to pretend her attention is on the garden. He nods toward the other side of the tall corn stalks, at the apple trees, and leads the way when Victor agrees.

The magic Lilia set around the garden keeps it producing all year round, and the plants within assume simultaneously the stages of spring, summer, and fall, so the apple tree is a chaotic calico of green leaves, white blossoms, and ripe red fruit. Victor tucks himself against the trunk, leaning on it for support as he twines his fingers around one of the branches which hangs low overhead.

“What did you need to talk about?” Victor’s smile is a mask, and Yuuri’s heart swells at each little tilt of his head, but he can’t find his own smile. He lost it somewhere. Maybe Victor has it. “Did you find anything good in the library?”

Yuuri shakes his head and pauses to collect his thoughts, watching Victor half-swing from the tree. One thing at a time.

“Do you remember what happened before I went to the library?” he asks. Victor’s only reply is another sweet, artificial smile. It’s not instructive. It could mean he’s forgotten, or that he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge. Yuuri clarifies, “Do you remember seeing the unicorns?”

Letting go of the branch, Victor drops fully onto the ground, sending a shower of white petals raining down around them. “Yes,” he says stiffly. His smile is gone now, too. “I remember.”

“Good. That’s good. I need to know…” Yuuri pauses to wet his lips. He’s running out of options, and he may be running out of time. They may not have much space to breathe before Victor’s memory fails for good. He can’t truly want to change Victor back, can’t find his way to that solution, but maybe if it were what _Victor_ truly wanted. Maybe if it were Victor’s wish, then it could become Yuuri’s as well. The rest of the question spills out in a rush. “I need to know if you want to be a unicorn again.”

“What do you wish me to be?” Victor asks it quickly and without guile, as if it were easy, as if he would really drop anything and everything to build himself into whatever mold Yuuri desires.

“This isn’t about what I wish,” Yuuri counters. “It’s about what you want, and more than that.” He can feel his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms as he clenches his fists at his side. “You’re the last. No more unicorns in the world. No more enchanted forests. The others, they stay in the sea, maybe forever. Your staying human could doom Yakov. It could mean suffering for his people. We don’t know what the Bull would do to this place, if you-” He can’t finish the thought. _If you were to fall._

Victor pushes away from the tree and steps toward Yuuri. His lips curve upward, but his blue eyes are solemn. He puts a hand out, seeking Yuuri’s touch, but Yuuri holds himself tight. 

“I’m still a unicorn,” Victor says. “No matter what I am on the outside. Or, I think I must be. I’ve been told unicorns are selfish, and if that’s the standard, then I haven’t changed much at all.” He drops his hand, giving up on reciprocation, but steps forward again and again. Yuuri stands like a stone pillar and lets him come. 

“I’m happy this way. Before, you know how I saw that enchanted forest, forever Spring? As a prison.” He spreads his hands out, palms open before him. “Now, I’m free. I’m happy here, with you. Yakov, his people, the world…” He shrugs, then drops his head, looking up at Yuuri through his forelock, where the starburst scar marks the spot where a horn should be. “I only want you.”

He steps forward again, and then his breath is caressing Yuuri’s cheek as he leans in. It’s happening again, over and over like this in a spiral that’s sure to drive Yuuri to madness. 

Yuuri feels the heat of Victor’s lips graze his own and, unthinking, he pushes him away. It’s enough to make Victor stumble, more from the shock than the force of it, and Yuuri steps back. 

“Don’t,” he says, forcing the words out. “Don’t. This is already hard enough, without-”

Whatever else he meant to say dies in his throat. Victor’s face is wet - thin, reflective trails from the corners of his eyes down to the swell of his cheeks catching the light. He hasn’t said another word, but the tears are louder than his voice could ever be.

Unicorns don’t cry. Yuuri feels the edge of hysteria creeping over him as the thought repeats. Unicorns _can’t_ cry. It shouldn’t be possible for Victor to have become so human.

Fat tears continue to well up in the corners of his eyes, catching in his silver lashes as he blinks them away, and Yuuri steps forward, reaching out, as if the evidence of his own eyes weren’t enough. He cups Victor’s cheek, and Victor tilts his head, leaning into the touch as Yuuri’s thumb sweeps away the moisture beneath his eye. His skin feels impossibly soft, like baby skin, and it makes Victor seem more unreal even as the solid, warm proof of him is there beneath Yuuri’s fingers.

The world around them dims. The rush of the waves below the cliff and the distant cries of the sea birds both fade out of notice. All that’s left is the warmth of this touch and the gentle puff of Victor’s shuddering breath against the inside of Yuuri’s wrist. 

It’s not immediately obvious what’s changed, but something feels different. Yuuri draws in closer still and feels Victor shudder against him as his hand slides from Victor’s face, beneath his hair, to the warm nape of his neck. His other hand finds Victor’s at his side, entwining their fingers, seeking answers.

Victor’s heart is racing. Yuuri can feel it pounding away against his own, the two drum beats competing for attention where their chests press against each other, and it’s that discordant harmony that finally clicks the pieces into place for Yuuri.

They’re standing so close that Yuuri can see the flecks of gold amidst the sea blue of Victor’s eyes, but there’s no strange bubble and hum beneath Yuuri’s skin. In the black of Victor’s irises, Yuuri sees his own shocked face reflected back at him as he runs his hand up Victor’s arm.

The space where the song of their magics intertwined is hollow. Yuuri closes his eyes to listen, focused, but there’s no reflection of ancient magic in the touch of Victor’s skin against his own. The only melody that sings through Victor’s blood now is the song of Yuuri’s enchantment. The unicorn’s magic is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking at that chapter count with a bit of apprehension, let me give you this hint:
> 
> Chapter 15 is an epilogue.
> 
> However, I plan to write 14 and 15 together and release both on the same day, so essentially, there's only one update left...


	14. The Journey's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurts.

_“Real magic can never be made by offering someone else's liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back.”_  
― The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

Lately, Yuuri has been considering the benefits of a hermitage.

He keeps the curtains pulled tight over the windows and the perimeter of his bed, and he buries himself, worming deeper into the darkness beneath the blankets. He imagines it as practice for living in his hermit cave - avoiding human contact, until the day when nearby villagers will come with steel and fire to punish him, the man who took unicorns from the world.

Someone is knocking outside his room, tapping insistently at the oak door. The achingly familiar sound of Victor’s voice floats through the gaps in the hinges, but Yuuri can’t make out the words with his head buried beneath the quilts. Poor Victor. Yuuri’s hand clenches on the sheets. 

He’s let them down. He’s let everyone down. Hours were lost to research, throwing himself into any chance of a solution, but as usual, he’s come up short. He was too weak to let Victor go, and now the opportunity has slipped through his fingers forever. 

There are voices outside still. He burrows deeper into the bedding. Eventually, they’ll give up, like they did at the library. They don’t want him to come out anyway - not really. 

_SLAM_

Something smashes into his bedroom door, and Yuuri sits up, the blankets falling to pool around him.

 _BAM_

He scoots to the end of the bed and peers out from between the curtains. It sounds like someone is trying to break his door right off the hinges. 

What if it’s Victor? Yuuri shakes, picturing Victor hurling himself bodily at Yuuri’s door. He can’t. He’ll hurt himself.

The last thought propels Yuuri from the bed, across the cold stone floor. With a click, he unlatches the bolt and opens the door just enough to check.

The force of the next push against the open door knocks Yuuri back, sending him crashing into the wooden bed frame. Yuri catches himself as he stumbles in, arresting his momentum to stop dead in the center of the bedroom.

He doesn’t waste any time before leveling an accusing finger at Yuuri. “ _You_ ,” he hisses. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Giving up,” Yuuri says, pulling himself back up onto the bed to nest in the blankets. “Like I should have to begin with.”

“Really? _Really_?” Yuri’s hands are clenched into fists, and Yuuri expected this, he did, but Yuri’s wrath and disappointment is a drizzle compared to the storm he’ll be caught in when the world discovers what Yuuri has caused. “You’re not even going to fucking _try_ anymore? Where are your books? Your spells?”

Yuuri shrugs, and his voice is flat when he answers. “There’s no more point. Victor is human now. He is. I’m sorry.”

“Enough,” Yuri says. “Forget all of that. Forget the shit you’ve already done to him.” His shoulders drops as his voice softens unexpectedly, quiet and pained. “I’m not happy about it, and I won’t forgive you, but- Consider what you’re doing to him _now_.”

When Yuuri closes his eyes, he sees his own reflection in the tears glistening on Victor’s pale skin. He knows. He knows perfectly well what he’s done. 

“We’re going down to the beach. Come with us.”

Yuuri shakes his head and wraps the blankets tighter around himself. “No. I’m going to stay here. You’ll be fine without me.”

Yuri’s face darkens. “Did I _ask_ if you wanted to come?” He grabs the end of the blanket and pulls. He’s surprisingly strong for his slight frame, or maybe Yuuri is just unprepared to be met with any force. The blanket whips off, flying across the room and leaving Yuuri exposed to the open air. “Now get up and put on your damn boots before I do it for you.”

Faced with the prospect of fighting a child, Yuuri complies. It’s pointless anyway.

When he stumbles into the hall, still caught in the act of fastening his cloak, he finds Victor and Prince Otabek already waiting for them, both dressed in simple, older clothes that will be easy to move in. Victor's shirt sleeves creep up his wrists when he stretches, marking the clothes as borrowed, but his long hair is pulled up into a high tail. When he turns away, avoiding Yuuri's eyes, it swishes dramatically. 

They're halfway to the stairs when Otabek stops suddenly. “I want to invite Yakov.” The others exchange glances, hesitating. “I don't think he'll come,” Otabek admits. “But I'd still like to ask.” 

“Of course,” Yuri says. He gives Yuuri a look, daring him to cause trouble. “We'll stop and ask.”

They find Yakov in his study as always, curtains pulled tight and his feet propped up on a tattered stool as he reads in the half-light from a single candle. The air is heavy with smoke, and the old king, wrapped in a water-stained robe, looks down his nose at the whole mess in his doorway. “Why am I so blessed today?” he drawls.

Familiarity breeds comfort, and Otabek is undeterred by his father’s tone or the darkness laying thick over the room. “We’re going down to the shore. I thought you might like to join us.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and King Yakov watches them as if he’s seriously considering it. Then, his face falls, and he turns toward the blacked out windows. “No. Go on without me.” 

It’s like a grainy vision of a far-off future. Yuuri can see himself, gone grey, curled in the same old chair and guarded by the same old stories. Yakov is Yuuri’s fate; he understands that now, and his chest aches with pity. 

They leave the king to his quiet darkness and his books. He waits for the door to close behind them, then goes to the window, pushing open the curtains to look down on the beach below.

-

A blanket of deep grey covers the sky above as they wind their way along the path to the shore. Anywhere else, Yuuri would expect a storm, but Yuri and Otabek don’t even remark on the weather. They’re all too used to the idea of storm clouds without a threat of rain.

Once their feet hit sand, Yuri dashes off, and Victor is close on his heels, face split in a grin as the two of them send the seabirds scattering. Otabek follows at a more sedate pace, but there’s a small smile pulling at his lips as he watches the other two. He pauses, looking over his shoulder as Yuuri hangs back. “Everything okay?” he prompts, but Yuuri only nods, and Otabek takes that as permission to join the others. 

Victor was right - of course he was; he couldn’t lie if he wanted to. He’s happy here. He’s happy like this, it seems, with or without Yuuri. It’s impossible to deny, seeing him out here on the sand, his ponytail flowing out behind him like a banner as he throws off his shoes and runs, screaming, in and out of the encroaching waves. 

Yuuri cranes his head, searching out among the ocean breakers. He can still see them in flashes of silver, gold, and opalescence. If he watches closely, he can catch moments where the light hits them just right and throws shadows against the arch of a pale neck. If Victor still sees them too, he shows no sign of it, blissfully trotting along the water line, hunting for pristine shells.

As the other two wear themselves out, Otabek settles onto the sand, laying his lovely red cloak out as if it were no better than a picnic blanket. Using his hands and the curve of a broken shell, he begins to dig, mining up the dark, damp sand hiding beneath the off-white layers. When Yuri sees what he’s doing, he stops chasing the birds and circles back, kneeling on the sand and watching closely as Otabek shows him how to mold and shape the wet earth into something delicate and new.

When Yuuri drags his eyes away from their patient hands, he finds Victor staring at him, his back to the sea. The dark clouds burgeoning overhead shadow his face and leave it all unreadable, except where Yuuri can feel the burn of him watching, always watching.

What has he done? He’s taken Victor from the world and doomed an entire kingdom, if not more, and for what? Each time he looks at Victor now, his stomach churns, guilt seizing him by the throat. He pursued Victor’s attention like it was a drug, and now he can’t stand to receive it. It was for nothing, all of it - nothing.

He searches Victor’s face, looking still for some way out of this mess, even as the shadow blanketing him deepens. He’s not sure what pulls him away. It all gets swirled together in the chaos and the darkness, and the beginning of everything becomes indistinguishable from the end, like a snake devouring its own tail. He thinks maybe it was the wind - the wind and the waves.

The sea surges, choppy and grey as a blade, the foam-tipped edges of it climbing the shore and reaching for Victor’s ankles, swirling around his bare feet on the sand. The already dark sky dims further, until the light is more like false dawn than cloudy afternoon, and a gale whips over Yuri and Otabek’s sand tower, crumbling the edges and wearing away the peak.

A deep growl rumbles through the earth, shaking loose stones from the cliffs beneath the castle, and they feel the thunder before they hear it.

They know what this is now. None of them look to the sky.

Somehow, on the open plain of the beach, the Bull looms even larger than it had on the road. The breadth of its inky black shoulders is wide as Yuuri’s old caravan, and it towers over the scrubby dunes. It stands at the base of the cliffs, blocking their route back to the castle, motionless save for the rolling white marble of its eyes and the whip lashing of its leonine tail. 

On the heels of his fear, Yuuri feels a rolling surge of despair. The work he put in, the great wrong he did to Victor, turning him away - all of it was pointless. In the end, the nightmare that woke him night after night is playing out right before him, and Victor stands like a white rose in the wide plain of sand, too easily trampled.

The Bull sucks in air through its flat nose, then snorts, sending up a spray of sand where its breath hits. It shakes its head slowly, back and forth, and one great obsidian hoof paws at the early in warning - once, twice.

It charges.

Yuuri doesn’t move, can’t turn his eyes away from the scene even as Victor, Yuri, and Otabek all scramble to get away, splitting up as they go. If he had held any hope that circumstance would force him to another great feat, it dies then, watching Victor’s human feet search for purchase in the slipping sand. He feels nothing but sorrow and regret.

Victor’s eyes meet his, and he gasps out, “Yuuri, _run_.”

That’s when Yuuri notices it - Victor has run to his left, Yuri and Otabek to his right, but the Bull hasn’t veered from its path at all. Its curling, silver-tipped horns are lowered, and it’s barreling down the slope, course set for Yuuri.

Instinct takes over. He runs.

He runs toward the sea, hearing the shouts of the others, but not understanding the words. The sand slides away beneath his boots, shaken by the pounding stride of the Bull at his back. He swerves along the lapping edge of the waves and turns, glancing back over his shoulder, only to see the Bull still coming, following his path like a toy pulled along on a string. 

Beyond the Bull, he can see Victor, now sprinting _toward_ the creature, toward Yuuri. His mouth is moving, but the wind catches the words and whips them away. Yuuri doesn’t need them. For his sake, Victor is running after his own death.

In that moment, Yuuri’s mind snaps in two.

The enchantment he placed on Victor will hold, ironclad, unless Yuuri can truly desire its end, or else _until the moment of his death_. And Yuuri is going to die here. He’ll either die running, or he’ll die helping. The choice is easy.

He slows, stops, and turns, looking past the oncoming bulk of the Bull, over its head, to meet wide eyes the same sparkling blue shade as the sea.

The Bull blocks Yuuri from sight as the moon eclipses the sun. Across the dunes, there’s a scream, torn from somewhere between rage and anguish, as the Bull stops, hooves planted in the sand. 

Yuuri’s blue cloak flutters in the breeze, marking the place where he fell.

There’s no burst of light, no explosion or cry of despair. The world is struck dumb. The crash of the waves, the call of the seabirds - every sound falls silent. An absence sweeps over the shoreline. 

It is shattered by a single, piercing cry. One moment, a man stands on the beach, the wind ripping at the ribbon that ties back his silver hair. The next, there is a unicorn, and his scream is full of the rage and pain only an immortal can know. Scraps of ripped fabric still cling to his legs and neck. He tosses his pale head back and cries out again.

The Bull wheels, the tips of its ears swiveling, searching for the sound. Hooves planted, it tenses to charge. If the creature had feelings of any sort, this would be its vision of triumph - the last of those who could defeat it stands ahead, trapped and vulnerable. The magician is defeated. The unicorn is alone.

Before the Bull can take a single step, the unicorn changes attitude. He turns to Bull and lowers his head, eyes blue as the ocean abyss and filled with things dark and unseen. Beautiful and deadly, his horn is silver steel in the darkness, and aimed true at the heart of the cursed beast. He charges.

Faced with an enemy that feels no fear, the Bull hesitates. Its haunches quiver, and its wide head swings side to side in confusion, but it gathers itself and, lowing, it meets the charge. 

Sand sprays up beneath hooves, black and gold, as the two foes rush one another. Before they can collide, the unicorn dodges, nimble, prancing and circling the enormous Bull. The beast has power, but the unicorn still has speed and grace on his side. 

The earth beneath them rumbles as the Bull stomps at the ground, turning as quickly as bulk will allow to face the unicorn again, only to have the unicorn slip away once more, prancing back in the other direction. With a thwack, something collides with the Bull’s hindquarters.

“Hey, you!” Yuri screams from across the beach. “Over here, you ugly old _bastard_.” He throws another stone, hitting the Bull in the shoulder this time. Next to him, Otabek is sifting through the sand at their feet, passing Yuri whatever he finds.

It can’t be hurting the beast any more than the buzz of a horsefly, but again the Bull hesitates, its milk pale eyes rolling back in its head. At that moment, the unicorn’s horn pierces its side.

The Bull bellows, backing away quickly, but the unicorn doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop to watch or to taunt; he advances, fresh streaks of blood, steaming and black as oil sliding down the spiral cut of the horn on his forehead. He tosses his head, threatening, and the Bull steps back again. 

Another stone, a bit of shell, a stick - it’s an all-out assault from the beaches now as Yuri and Otabek both hurl whatever they can get in hand at the creature, driving it back from both sides. Yuri is red-faced, screaming names and curses in a jumble of half-formed languages he doesn’t speak. 

Back, and back again - each time the Bull hesitates, the others never falter. They advance, yelling, refusing to give way to fear or despair as they press the cursed beast to retreat. They pursue the Bull in the only direction they can chase it: away - away from Yuuri, from Yakov, from the castle and the land and the people of New Feltsgate. They press the Bull back until its hindmost foot slides into the first lapping tongue of the surf.

The water licks at the Bull’s feet, and his hooves begin to hiss and steam. Where the sea touches, the onyx of his feet turns to translucent white. The Bull bellows and lumbers forward, shaking its huge head, and the unicorn dances back.

But, quick as he’d retreated, he returns undaunted, his horn pricking the flesh of the Bull’s nose. The two creatures hold, a stalemate. The unicorn’s white and silver and pearl is eclipsed, dwarfed by the bulk of the great black Bull. 

Then, the Bull snorts, blowing back the unicorn’s mane in a gust of air. It diminishes as its head droops, defeated, and it turns into the waves. The water steams where it touches the beast, rising from the surf in a fine mist, and the contact fades the darkness from its hide, until what’s left is the pale color of wet parchment. 

Out, out into the ocean, the Bull trudges, until the waves are as high as its head. When the first breaker crashes down on it, it rips in two, and then it vanishes.

Yuri drops the last stone from his hand and goes scrambling across the beach, his feet pushing up cascades of sand as he races to the spot where Yuuri’s cloak is still waving in the wind. Otabek is right on his heels, more dignified but equally frantic. 

The unicorn barely notices them, staring out at the sea. Where the Bull sank, the water swirls unnaturally. The ocean retreats, drawing back from the shoreline with such speed that it leaves small creatures scuttling for shelter between the rocks, and the water swells and tosses, mounting a wave high as the cliffs ahead.

At the peak of the crest, a cluster of hooves bursts forth. There’s a ragged, trumpeting cry - triumphant, but shattered by disuse. The unicorns rise to the top of the water, jostling for position, arched necks and glittering horns throwing sea spray into the air like diamonds. They gather, crowding into a single point, and then they drop, and the wave comes with them.

They surge toward the shore, legs straining to reach the land. When the first delicate hoof meets sand, they break apart, sweeping around Victor.

The freed unicorns’ minds wash over his, contagious with freedom and joy and the hope of a new beginning. It tastes like fresh spring water. It sounds like the pure, unrestrained laughter of a young child. The sweep of it catches Victor up, and he breaks, running with the others. _Welcome home! My family, my friends, welcome back!_

Together, they reach the crest of the hill, clambering up the path toward the main roads and the mountains. The phantom white stone of Yakov’s castle rises at their side, its king but a tiny speck of a figure standing high on the parapet, staring down at them. The sight brings Victor back to himself, and he stops. The other unicorns push by him, eager only to return to their forests, or else to make other homes anew. But Victor is not just one of these precious many - not anymore. 

He returns to the beach, trotting against the flow of the freed as the last few, the youngest and the smallest, leave the sea and head for the cliffs and the the towns. When he approaches the place where Yuri kneels in the sand, his stride slows, and he hesitates, looking back at the route the other unicorns have taken. 

They’re nearly all gone, now - just a few stragglers climbing the hill and one lone figure standing at the peak of the cliffs, observing the humans below. Even as Victor notices him, the other unicorn rears back, turns, and dashes off after the others, flaxen tail flying like a flag behind him.

 _Yuuri…_ Yuri jumps under Otabek’s hand at the sound Victor’s voice and scrubs at his face with the sleeves of his shirt. He keeps his face turned from Victor’s approach, hair falling forward to conceal his expression.

“Bastard,” Yuri says, voice breaking. “Do you think he planned it?”

A loud, growling rumble interrupts before anyone can answer, and they all startle, looking around wildly for the source. A drop of water hits Yuri’s upturned cheek, then another. The rain comes on slow and halting, the clouds having long-ago forgotten their own purpose. Otabek holds his hand out, feeling the drops splatter against his palm - a sensation that tricks up vague memories of a childhood passed.

Victor can feel the earth stirring beneath his hooves, the magic of nature unfurling its leaves and raising its head toward the new rain. 

It will take time still, but the unicorns are back. The drought is broken. Life will return to Yakov’s kingdom.

He steps forward, and Yuri backs away, letting Victor see the place where Yuuri is laid out. He’d been worried, afraid to look for so many reasons, but Yuuri’s eyes are peacefully closed, his skin unmarked. Victor’s heart flutters, hummingbird fast once more at the sight of him sleeping. He closes his own eyes and dips his head, touching the tip of his horn to the center of Yuuri’s forehead. The contact jolts through him.

Yuri curses softly at the sound of a short, indrawn breath. When Victor opens his eyes, it’s just in time to watch Yuuri’s brow furrow. His lips pucker, as if he’s already considering some great philosophical question, and then he blinks awake. 

He stares up at the others crowded around him. “Ah, why is everyone looking at me?” he says, reaching up to touch his face. “Was I drooling? I had such an intense dream.” He looks at each of them in turn, frowning, still assembling the pieces of the puzzle. “Wait, when did it start raining?”

“You _idiot_ ,” Yuri hisses. The words lose some of their force when he flings himself to the ground, arms coiling tight around Yuuri’s neck. 

_Hug him_ , Victor says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. _Hug him for me._ Yuuri stares wide-eyed up at the unicorn, but reaches up to hug the boy back. When Yuri tries to pull away, Yuuri only tightens his arms, closing his eyes to hide his face in the crook of Yuri’s neck as the events of the day start to come back to him.

“Do none of you have any sense?” Pointed, the voice breaks through and splits them apart. They turn to find Yakov striding out onto the beach, hands curled into fists. “Are young people so unused to rain that you don’t know to come inside when it starts?”

He looks like he’s gearing up to start a lecture, but his energy gets cut to the quick when Otabek turns and hugs him. He stops, abruptly quiet, and raises his hand to slowly pat the spot between his son’s shoulders. His eyes meet Victor’s, then Yuuri’s. “Thank you,” he says curtly.

 _I didn’t do it for you,_ Victor says, knowing the king won’t hear him anyway. Yuuri shoots him a look for it, though, and Yuri snorts before pulling away, finally disengaging himself from the hug to stand, dusting the sand off the knees of his breeches.

“Hate to say it,” he says. “But the old man is right. We should get inside.” 

Yuuri takes his time standing; the world is still rocking beneath his feet like a ship at sea. _Hold onto me_ , Victor says, stepping closer. _Let me help._

“Thanks,” Yuuri breathes, twining his fingers through the unicorn’s mane. Beneath his fingertips, that strange energy bubbles up once more, sparking through his arm and nestling warm in the middle of his shoulder blades. It’s familiar and nostalgic, and at once it slaps Yuuri in the face with everything it’s not. 

Tears prickle behind his eyelids, and he falls forward, burying his face in Victor’s neck as he clings to him. _It’s okay,_ Victor whispers, nodding for Yuri and the others to go on ahead to the castle. _Everything is fine now. We’re both still here._

Yuuri weeps even as the sky rumbles overhead and lightning arcs above the sea. His tears mix with the raindrops coming down all around them, fast and heavy and stinging where they hit his skin. Beneath it, Victor stands still as a marble statue and lets him cry, unable to do anything more to provide comfort.

Eventually, the tears do stop, and Yuuri wipes at his face uselessly with his wet cloak. “I’m sorry,” he says, with a breathy little almost-laugh at himself. “You probably think it’s ridiculous, crying like that when we’ve just gotten exactly what I worked for all along.” 

_No._

“Well, it’s over now.” Yuuri pulls away from the unicorn’s neck, though he doesn’t seem ready to take his hand back just yet. He pastes on a smile that’s convincing as a paper model and equally sturdy. “The others are free, and the curse is lifted. You can go back.” He licks his lips, then scrubs at his face again. “Everything can go back to normal.”

 _No._ Victor shakes his head and turns to meet Yuuri’s eyes. _The others can go back, and that’s wonderful. The thought fills me with joy and relief, and yet… I will never go back. I will never be the same. You transformed me, Yuuri. A unicorn cannot cry. They cannot feel regret or mortality… or love._ He looks away briefly, unable to watch Yuuri’s face as he finishes, _But I do._

Yuuri’s eyes are wide, and his voice shakes when he whispers, “Still?”

 _Still._ Victor repeats. _Forever._

Yuuri looks away at that, but his fingers don’t stray from their hold on Victor’s mane. “I can’t promise you that,” he says. “I don’t have forever. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be a good enough magician to change you back safely- if that’s what you wanted?” Victor nods, and Yuuri flushes to the tips of his ears. “I may never be good enough to deserve you,” he admits.

 _You already are,_ Victor says. _You’re a hero._

Struck dumb, Yuuri can only stare, transfixed by the sight of his own reflection filling the black of the unicorn’s eyes. They stand together in silence, lulled by the rush of the waves and the quiet sound of rain beating down on the beach.

By the time they finally ascend the winding path up to the castle, the rain has tapered off and warm sunlight filters through breaks in the pink-tinged clouds above. Yuri is leaning on a pillar near the castle doors as they approach, watching through cat-slitted eyes as Otabek rests on the steps at his feet. Though the dead trees are still dripping rain from their branches, Yakov stands beneath one, his face turned up to the sky.

“What took you two so long?” Yuri asks. “We’ve been waiting.”

Yuuri flushes again, and his fingers flex against Victor’s neck. “We had some things to talk about,” he says. 

“Well, so do we. Like, for instance - now what?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to answer, but finds his mind blank. In all of this, he’s never really considered what comes after. The darkness is defeated, and their quest is over. Isn’t this where the story is supposed to end?

From across the courtyard, Yakov grumbles something under his breath. He pushes himself away from the tree and turns to them. “It looks to me like what you need is a better magician, someone who can teach you how to harness all that pent-up energy, someone who makes a better Master than a library book can.” He gives Yuuri a pointed look. “Seems like we both know someone who fits that description.”

Yuuri swallows the lump in his throat. Yakov is right, but the prospect of returning to Lilia is still daunting. Regardless of her motives, she’d still kidnapped Victor, and Yuuri had paid back her mentorship by exploding one of her wagons before fleeing into the night with what she thought was her only hope. He’ll have a lot to make up for if he wants to get into her good graces again.

The hard creases on Yakov’s face soften, making him look a decade younger. “Besides,” he adds. “I’ll need someone to let her know that she can come home… if she still wants to.”

Unable to resist the plea in the old man’s eyes, Yuuri nods, agreeing without a second thought.

“So that’s it.” Yuri interrupts. “You two go off and find the old queen, I guess, and I’ll,” his eyes drop, and he kicks a small stone off the steps. “Maybe I’ll go visit my granddad.”

 _You should come with us._ Victor shakes his head. _You’ll need the training too._

“What? No, I don’t!” Otabek and Yakov both turn to look at him, and Yuri flushes. “Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?”

“Yuri,” Yuuri says, shaking his head as it sinks in that all that research did team him at least one thing: “Only those gifted with magic can hear the voice of a unicorn.”

Yuri turns pale, then red. “ _What_?” he repeats, shaking. 

Before he can blow up entirely, Otabek stands and turns to place his hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You know you’re always welcome here,” he says. “Stay, if you like, but… It might be better not leaving yourself untrained.”

“Indeed,” Yakov cuts in, shooting Yuuri a look. “The world doesn’t need another half-trained apprentice magician running loose.”

“Fine,” Yuri sighs dramatically and plants his hands on his hips. “I guess I’m stuck with you idiots again. But this time, we pack _extra_ food - got it?”

“Sure,” Yuuri says, trying to hide his smile. “I think we can do that.”

It won’t be easy, and they all know it well, but with the end of the curse, each of them feels lighter on his feet than ever before. The days ahead spill out before them like sun through the clouds, highlighted with edges of gold and the bright colors of the rainbow. Their story goes on - Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and help along the way. This story would never have been finished without you <3
> 
> This chapter is where I originally intended to leave the story in my first outline, but there's an epilogue already uploaded after this. If you're not the sort who likes epilogues, feel free to leave here. If not, I'll see you on the other side...


	15. Epilogue

_“Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.”_   
― The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle

They take a few days to rest at the castle before striking out, back onto the road. Sara packs supplies for them with tears streaming down her face, but there’s no way Yuri could complain about lack of food this time. She ensures they have more than enough to feed the three of them, plus anyone else they might decide to adopt along the way. It necessitates some adjustment to their bags, though, and though Victor still insists that, _I will not be made a pack mule_ , he deigns to carry his own share of the burden. 

When everything is packed, farewells take place on the castle steps, with the air carrying a bittersweet smell of salt and rain. There are grey clouds overhead again, but under the circumstances, that feels like a good omen.

King Yakov steps forward first, shaking their hands in turn. “Thank you,” he mutters again, uncomfortable but sincere. He stops, Yuuri’s hand still clasped in his own, searching for more words to express, but comes up short. With a last pat of Yuuri’s hand, he lets go and moves away.

Otabek takes his place, bowing low to Victor in lieu of touching before he moves to Yuri. He takes Yuri’s hand, like his father had, but then leans in, depositing a brief kiss on Yuri’s cheek. “Come back and visit soon,” he says, squeezing Yuri’s hand.

Yuri goes pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Then, Otabek turns, pulling Yuuri over to kiss his cheek as well, and Yuri turns crimson from his collarbones to the tips on his ears.

Behind the king, Phichit has both hands clasped over his mouth, trying to muffle his laughter at the look on Yuri’s face. He’s not doing a very good job of it, and a fuse is lit in Yuri’s eyes, ready to explode. 

Yuuri grabs his arm before he can go off and turn the goodbyes into a final shouting matching, dragging him back toward the path. “Be well,” Yuuri shouts, waving back over his shoulder. “We’ll see each other again soon!”

“And _take care of my cat_!” Yuri yells, still red-faced and haunted by the echoes of Phichit’s giggling.

As they pass through the ornamental gateway at the foot of the mountain, Emil snaps to attention, giving them a smart salute and a playful wink. “Take care on the road! Safe travels!”

Michele doesn’t move from where he’s leaned up against his post, but nods curtly when they walk by. 

_Well,_ Victor says, his voice dripping with wry humor. _It’s an improvement over being threatened with a polearm._

When they descend into New Feltsgate, even Yuri has to stop in wonder at the changes; it’s like a completely different village. The streets are bustling with the cries of traders, proclaiming their wares in an improvised marketplace. Doors and windows of the homes hang open, letting in the fresh air and sun as neighbors call out to each other in greeting. 

One of the stalls in the market is festooned with a familiar swirling rainbow of fabric and surrounded by a pack of chattering customers. Behind the counter, Minako bustles about with a pen and parchment, taking notes on the requests. Her hair is piled up on her head, flyaway strands escaping as she rushes around. 

Victor lingers, watching for a moment. The clothes are tempting - though he can’t wear them at the moment - but he also wishes very much that he could say farewell to Minako too, and thank her for her kindness when he was so new. 

But the woman is clearly busy, and it’s best for all of them to move through the village quickly, before they run the risk of anyone recognizing Victor for what he is. 

In the central square, they find Minami balancing on a ladder, repainting the old sign that hangs above the door to the inn. When he spots them, he starts to wave wildly, the ladder rocking back and forth beneath him with the movement. “Yuuri- !” He cuts off, doing an obvious double take when he notices Victor beside them. Oops.

Yuuri waves back through the dread creeping over him, worried that they’ll have to at least explain Victor’s “disappearance”, but then Minami’s mother yells at him from inside the open door of inn, scolding him. That distracts the boy long enough for the group to slip out, quickening their pace as they go. They’ll return, someday. 

They pass out of the final line of cottages and back onto the rutted dirt road they know too well. 

It feels like a second home to them now, the potholes filled with memories. Here, Yuri had thrown a brick-hard loaf of moldy bread at Yuuri’s head in frustration, nearly knocking him off a rock. There, Yuuri had braided the first colorful ribbon into the unicorn’s mane. The scenery is all so familiar, but littered here and there with new features, as tender green shoots poke their heads up along the path; old seeds germinating at last from the showers of fresh rain. 

-

Two days’ travel from the mountains, Yuuri drowses after a long day on his feet, curled up against Victor’s warm side and listening to the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Yuri feeds a few sticks into the crackling fire, then looks up at them through the flames.

“I want to see my grandad,” he says. It’s abrupt. He’s been thinking about it for a while. He points off to a branch in the road nearby, a path barely wider than a deer track that winds through the tall, yellowing grass. “The village is through there.”

Yuuri turns, exchanging a look with Victor. An extra side trip will delay their progress when they’ve been pressing on, traveling extra hours in an effort to reach Lilia quickly. “Do you know the way?”

“Yes,” Yuri bites out. “It’s been a few years, but… it’s home.”

In the end, they can’t deny him. It adds two days to their journey, finding their way along the overgrown path that leads to the remote village. Yuri’s home is clustered by trees, hidden away deep in the darkness of an old forest. It’s a place that doesn’t want to be found.

But the journey is worth it when Yuri makes that cut off, yelping noise, shaking with excitement as he flings himself into the arms of an old man in the midst of a newly-sprouted garden. At first, the man freezes, but then he melts, burying his face in Yuri’s hair as he murmurs words of comfort, inaudible but for the tone. 

Once they’re in the village, it’s inevitable that they stay. Yuri needs time to reconnect, and to see that his grandfather is doing well enough without him. The little town is still half-abandoned, but there are signs of new life in the houses as well as the gardens. 

The greatest shock of Yuri’s return comes when they walk to the town well for washing water and hear a booming, confident voice they know too well emanating from the central square. They peer around the side of the building to check, and there’s no denying it - the close-cropped black hair, the mangled finery, the cocky grin, and over it all, a sash that reads _Mayor_.

“ _JJ_?” Yuri demands, sloshing the water they toted back all over the floors as he slams the cottage door shut behind them. “Your new mayor is JJ?”

Nicholai nods, nonplussed by Yuri’s reaction. “He showed up right after the rains with his wife and a couple sad-looking horses. Old Madam Orlov told him we have plenty of kings here already, but we did need a new mayor.” He reaches out to pull what’s left of the water from Yuri’s nerveless fingers. “He’s young. It’s early still. But, so far, so good.”

Yuri only blinks at him for a moment before regaining his senses, shaking the thoughts from his head. “Fine,” he says reluctantly. “But if he starts composing songs, kick him out.”

-

It’s lovely, spending time with Yuri’s grandfather and seeing how Yuri himself blooms alongside the new growth outside, back where he belongs. It also tears at Yuuri, though he tries not to let on. He misses his own family. He misses Victor. He lies awake at night, restless to return to their journey.

He’s still awake, rolling fitfully across his pallet on Nicholai’s floor, when Yuri comes to crouch beside him one night. “I have to go,” Yuri whispers, his hand over Yuuri’s mouth. He casts a furtive glance over his shoulder, then back at Yuuri. “He’s here.”

Through the window, Yuuri can see the edge of the old forest. Against it, two white forms glow like will-o-wisps through the darkness. He’d know which of the two is Victor with his eyes closed, but the other he’s never seen before - taller than Victor, his mane streaked with flaxen gold.

“Don’t tell granddad,” Yuri whispers, turning back to face Yuuri again. “Tell him I went on ahead or something. I- He’ll only worry.”

Yuuri nods, then falls back onto his pallet, watching as Yuri retrieves his rucksack. 

The next morning, he can’t remember what happened and what was a dream. He thinks perhaps he saw Yuri after that, walking into the forest on his own, and a unicorn with a golden mane lowering his head to rest on Yuri’s shoulder, as if he were weeping.

Yuuri makes excuses to Nicholai as he promised, and the old man only shakes his head. He expected it. 

Yuuri does worry for Yuri, though. He watches the horizon, scanning for a flash of gold as he and Victor return to the road on their own, but Victor soothes him through the worst of it.

 _I spoke to Dimitri. I believe he will watch after Yuri. He only wants a chance to know his son as he should have._ Victor has faith in the other unicorn, and Yuuri trusts Victor without reservation.

In the days that follow, they settle into a quiet peace together, watching the signs of life return to the world around them. Many homes still lie abandoned, but here and there they see families stirring - opening windows, patching roofs, and tilling the soil for planting. 

Once, they pass an old forest, the trees budding with new yellow-green leaves, and a pale figure moves between the trunks like mist. The strange unicorn watches them, and Yuuri can’t help the way his grip on Victor’s mane tightens, as if he can physically prevent him from choosing to leave. He’d let Victor go, if he asked, but-

Before Yuuri can fall too far down that hole, the other unicorn bows her head, deferring to them. Silently as she appeared, she vanishes back into her wood, leaving them on their own.

The traveling merchant wagon passes them on the road a few days later - Seung-gil at the reins and Leo seated beside him, hunched over a sketchbook. When he sees Yuuri and Victor, Leo’s face lights up. “Yuuri,” he calls out. “You made it! Seung-gil, let’s stop. Pull over!”

“No unscheduled stops,” Seung-gil snaps, but he nods and waves to Yuuri as their paths intersect, almost as if he genuinely regrets that they can’t stop to chat. 

“We’ll see each other again,” Leo yells back to them, waving. 

Yuuri’s certain they will.

-

They’re half a day from the border to Yakov’s lands, half a day to the village where Victor and Yuuri had once parted ways, and the realization of that knocks them both sideways. They had been so foolish then, so hesitant of one another, and so vastly unprepared for everything that would happen to them after.

On the outskirts of the village, Yuri rejoins them, emerging from the forest around the border as if he, too, were a creature of legend. He’s closed-mouthed about where he’s been and what he’s been doing, but seems calmer, settled in his own skin in new and interesting ways. 

When they finally come across Lilia’s camp one evening, the sun is setting at their backs. It’s Georgi who sees them first, squinting into the light to parse out the familiar features from shadow. When he finally processes what he’s seeing, he turns and runs, and Yuuri loops his arm across Victor’s shoulders, forcing himself to slow his breath as his guts twist in anticipation.

Lilia emerges at a sedate pace and stops some distance away. She looks beautiful, and noble, and small. Her gaze travels slowly across Yuri, then Yuuri, then lands on the unicorn, his head turned to nuzzle at Yuuri’s cheek.

“You’ve done it, then,” she says, and Yuuri nods. She closes her eyes, clenches and unclenches her hands. When she opens them again, a phantom smile pulls at her mouth. “Well, come on then. If you’re planning to work off the damage you did, you can start by cooking the beans for tonight, and we’ll see what we can do about fixing your mess.”

“Yes, Madame,” Yuuri says and bows before approaching. When he reaches her side, he pauses. “He said to tell you that you can come back, if you wanted to.”

“Maybe,” she says, still watching the sun set over the hill. “Maybe.”

-

Yuuri places his hands on the box, closes his eyes, and breathes deep, centering himself.

 _Are you sure you want to do this right now?_ Victor is standing at the center Yuuri’s trailer, in the midst of an ornate circle, his tail twitching as he tries not to disturb anything. _The others aren’t expecting you to finish for days still._

“I know,” Yuuri says. He picks up the little box and turns to face Victor, determination settling onto his face. “But I don’t want it to be about them. This is sort of-”

_Private._

Yuuri nods. He’s not certain he’ll be able to do this, anyway. Even after months of study, rehearsing and choreographing each movement with Lilia, and drawing the circle so many times it’s imprinted on his eyelids, he still lacks confidence. Having an audience would only make failure that much worse.

In a few days, they’ll arrive at his home village. He’ll be seeing his parents for the first time in so long. When he does, he wants to feel the warm press of Victor’s palm against his own.

“Are you sure about this?” Yuuri asks, for what must be the hundredth time since they arrived at the caravan.

As always, Victor replies, _I’ve never been more certain._

On his next exhale, Yuuri closes his eyes and reaches for the threads of melody running through the earth beneath his feet. He can’t think about the movements of the spell. If he does, he’ll question himself, and then he’ll falter. 

Instead, he thinks of Yuri, probably hunched over his books in the other trailer, squinting against the flickering candle light as Georgi snores away in the cot behind him. He’ll be upset to miss this moment, though he won’t come out and say it. 

The thought of Yuri leads back to his father - Dimitri, who came to Yuuri with secrets and spells never recorded in any library; who found them too late to save his own love, but shared what he knew with this strange new family so freely.

As he rises onto his toes and sweeps out his arm, he thinks of the box still clutched in his hand and the two gold rings nestled inside, forged with words of power and hiding a secret of their own - a few silvery strands from Victor’s mane, braided together and tied in a circle. 

Yuuri can feel the melody of the earth through his bones now, and he knows the ritual is nearing its mark. He’s not weak or tired, though he expected to be. His fingers stretch out, guiding the magic, and he tries not to think about how close he is to the end. It’s tempting to open his eyes and check on Victor, so he squeezes them more tightly closed. No distractions. No hesitation.

He brings it all to the close - feet together, hand outstretched, and breathes out the last threads of magic. 

The wagon is so quiet. He can’t bear to open his eyes.

Fingertips brush against his own, and Yuuri’s breath catches. His eyes fly open, and Victor - shamelessly naked but very much _human_ Victor - binds his hand with Yuuri’s. 

They’re not done, though. Yuuri fumbles to get the box open one-handed, and Victor catches it, helping him undo the clasp. The rings inside hold the light of the lamp and sparkle as if eager to share their secret. The magic to transform Victor - that was difficult, but these are the most important step in all of it. 

Yuuri pulls the top ring free of the cushion and slowly slides it onto Victor’s finger, sighing in relief as it settles into place. The rings unite them, binding them together, but it’s the deep magic of Victor’s hair that they need most - not only tying him to Yuuri, but to himself. 

Victor takes the other ring, but pulls Yuuri’s hand to his lips before disentangling their fingers to complete the exchange. Yuuri is mesmerized, caught in the glimmer of the gold on his finger as Victor steps forward, into his arms.

Yuuri flushes at the touch of Victor’s skin and the heat that gathers between them. He reaches up, sweeping unrestrained silver back from Victor’s face and cradling the back of his head. Still, he hesitates. “Are you sure you want this part as well?” he breathes, even as Victor’s mouth drifts closer.

“Very much,” Victor whispers. “Forever.”

When he finally closes the last gap between them, Yuuri’s eyes fall closed. Beyond the slick heat of their mouths, running through them, the songs of their magic twine together beneath their skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated with much affection to Morgen, who supported and encouraged me on every step of this project, and without whom it would literally not exist.
> 
> Thank you all again for being here with me. I hope you come away satisfied and fulfilled. 
> 
> As always, I'm on [Tumblr](http://louciferish.tumblr.com/), but also [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/louciferish) and [Dreamwidth](https://louciferish.dreamwidth.org/) now. Yelling on any platform is much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/louciferish)!


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